Templar
by Teizan
Summary: Four years ago, Hawke was taken from her family. The year is now 9:27 Dragon, and tomorrow is the day that she dies. - Gen(No pairing) fic as far as I know.
1. Chapter 1 - 9:27 Dragon

Author's Notes: Disclaimers, this story will be bloody and bloody violent. Otherwise, it'll be pretty tame, no lemons and I'm one for happy endings (even if I haven't figured out an ending). I'm looking forward to seeing how this goes. I'm not looking forward to seeing how long it takes to put out a new chapter every time. This has been waiting for almost a year.

I do not own Dragon Age, and this'll be the only chapter I say it.

* * *

 **Templar**

 **Chapter One - 9:27 Dragon**

The moonlight softly illuminated the rough surfaces of Lowtown as one of the night's typical entertainments slid down the alley wall before falling forwards unconscious, blood flowing heavily from her newly broken nose. Hawke huffed slightly, still quietly incredulous that anyone, especially this little woman, would dare the streets of Lowtown at night without even a knife's worth of protection. Leaning down she wiped her bloody hand on the working girl's clothes as she began rifling through her bags for anything worth taking; as always muttering the quiet prayer for a wayward sovereign. Finding a coin-pouch with a faint jingle, she dropped out a few coppers, smirking slightly as a silver followed; the girl must have already been paid once tonight, and paid surprisingly well. Hawke wouldn't have any more money problems for a while, if nothing went wrong. Straightening up while idly remembering how attractive the woman had looked in the brief glimpse in the moonlight - not the same now with a broken nose of course - Hawke offhandedly wished she had the equipment to take advantage at a moment's notice like one of the more common street toughs would've. Nothing for it though, she supposed; probably would have caught a particularly virulent disease by now if she did anyway, she reflected as she began trawling for another target; the night was still fresh after all.

Hours later, and Hawke still hadn't found a particularly enticing mark for the night, having bypassed beggars sleeping with one eye open (no sense making trouble for little gain), a mugging already in progress (Not a Hightown noble, not worth the fight), hidden as a Guard patrol passed, responding ever-so-late to the long-finished mugging, and watched silently as a particularly suspicious mark turned out to be bait for a gang's trap, catching two would-be muggers unawares. Figuring she'd search out one more street before calling it a night and catching some sleep for the day, she sidled into an alleyway to get a better view without being seen in the expansive shadows. Watching and waiting, she noticed a dwarf trying to sneak off in the direction she'd come from - Carta? Probably not worth the risk - and watched him finally turn the bend onto another street before vanishing quietly behind it. Shrugging to herself slightly, Hawke turned back to her impromptu stakeout, hoping she hadn't wasted the entire night after the prostitute when she could've just spent the night sleeping.

As a few more minutes passed, she was resigned; she didn't expect anyone worthwhile to turn up before sunrise and safer hours. Just before she shuffled off grumbling to herself, though, she froze as she heard heavy footsteps pounding from the bend around the corner she'd come from. Her nascent fears were confirmed when a band of dwarves bearing weapons and wearing armour, mainly leather, - _oh, and there's that dwarf from before_ -, started to spread out into the street she'd marked, as she shrank back into the alley she'd hidden in. The one she took for the leader, who was hauling a surprisingly large axe for his size about, had a rather smug smirk on his face. "We know you're here, missy. You've stolen from the Carta! Nobody steals from us and gets to live." he finished, his smirk gaining a sadistic touch. Hawke was incredulous. All this for a silver and seven coppers? Or was there something she was forgetting? Yesterday? The week before? Her confusion had distracted her enough that she'd forgotten to duck down behind a crate, and the particular dwarf staring into the alley gave a "There! She's Here!", shocking her into action. She quickly took stock of what she had as the dwarves rushed at the alley: Her battered sword, a good thick Ferelden blade, her armour, leather, covered occasionally in bits of steel plate she'd found, her dagger, which she probably wasn't good enough with to use in battle, and… she took a glance back, briefly, and the alley opened up into a space around a drain cover. She had room for That. But dwarves? She didn't know. It was probably her only chance, however.

Unsheathing her sword as she retreated into the open space around the drain, she felt a tinge of exhilaration at what she was about to do, there wasn't any other option, there was no rationality to be had, she'd finally be able to use it for the first time since… she couldn't remember at the moment, and she'd just been interrupted by the dwarves flooding into the opening. She was prepared to start when they suddenly stopped at a 'hold!' from behind, confusing her again before she saw their leader come through to the front. He still had that infernally smug grin on his face. "No way out, missy. We have you now." he proclaimed with a lot of arm-sweeping grandeur, as his men gave a few barks of laughter. She never let any of them out of her sight. "You've stolen from the Carta, and we've come to collect." he continued. The confusion from before hit her again. "What, that silver? All this for a bloody silver?!" She replied before she could catch herself. His grin widened. "Ah, a silver. And she was right, you'd be worth a lot more than a silver, wouldn't you? Might even be a few sovereigns, whether we sell you to Tevinter or keep you ourselves." he finished, leering as his men laughed more. She had no delusions of what he was talking about. "I will never be a slave, you bastard." she spat out, pulling together her rage. "Now see here-" he started, but was cut off with "I've always wondered," she cut him off suddenly, she had to stall - "what it would be like to toast a dwarf alive? I hear they have a...resistance." she finished speaking as she'd secretly collected enough of her power. Her eyes lit up along with her sadistic grin. "Let's find out." she said as she forced out a blast of power from her left hand, crushing dwarves into walls in a burst of concussive force. Before they could recover, she dropped her sword onto the ground, and brought her hands together and raised them, channeling the rage she'd gathered along with no small amount of sheer power into them. Her grin widened. The dwarves had finished pulling themselves together, and were starting to charge.

She was ready for them.

"Burn." she stated simply, bringing her hands forward to meet them. And then there was fire, roaring through the dwarves, calling forth screams of agony. She remembered what it was like before, when she'd done the same to the first who'd tried to enslave her, who took her from her family and dragged her to Kirkwall in chains. They'd been human, and they'd died quickly. She watched the dwarves, compared. "It seems the legendary dwarven resistance is true! You're still screaming!" she called with a sharp laugh, as she finally burned through the power concentrated in her hands, and panting slightly, dropped them to pick up her sword, in case one of them got back up. The screams started tapering off into groans, and some became silent altogether. Hawke waited as the flames died down. There'd been six dwarves, two of which, which satisfyingly enough included their leader; bag of hot air he was, had died to the heavy burns already. All of them were still on fire, but at this point they probably couldn't feel it, and Hawke suddenly realised her new problem. Large burst of fire, easily visible at night. The Guard, and maybe even the Templars would be coming. She cursed, and set about stabbing the remainder in the throat; she couldn't risk them being healed and telling them about her. Once the last was done, she quickly wiped off the blade, and rushed out into the street and in a direction reasonably away from home. She suddenly realised she hadn't gotten the chance to loot anything, and started cursing like a sailor as she ran.

* * *

Hawke had woken up bleary eyed, having spent the morning hours beforehand running vaguely away from her home's direction to throw off a search, and then trudging back halfway through Kirkwall before collapsing on the block of wood and hay she called a bed, and then suffered through having to push off a particularly insistent demon for long enough to get a good morning's sleep. After having stared blankly into the ceiling for a while, she'd been loudly notified of the fact that she was hungry, and gotten up to fix the only thing she had ingredients for.

Fish with a potato.

Chewing through that, Hawke started thinking. How much Templar interest had she attracted? How close would they be? Was it time to move? How much did the Carta know? Would they still be hunting her? She didn't know, but she could guess: A lot, Not too close (the running in the wrong direction had to be good for something), Move where? What she looked like and the fact that she'd burned a group of Carta already? Probably, but not for the original reason. She groaned, leaning back on her stool into the wall. She had no idea what to do; no idea if she should even do anything. The Templars might pass her over and she might have scared the Carta out of the trouble of hunting through all of Lowtown for her. Thinking about it, she smiled slightly, figuring it was probably true. She'd still need to stay far away from any Carta, though, so Darktown was completely off-limits. The Templar search wouldn't even know she was a she, actually; moving would probably attract attention if anything and with the silver's worth in coppers she could pay for a few week's food if she dug into her reserves a bit, and she'd stay indoors all the time otherwise; long enough for the search to hit a dead end and for the Carta to stop bothering if they did take the trouble. Hawke nodded, her course decided, she'd go up near Hightown to trade the silver, visit the market to get the first week's food, and then bring it all back home and stay in for the rest of the week. Leaning forward again, she found that everything was only lukewarm now. Serves her for ignoring it.

* * *

It wasn't often Hawke haggled, but when she was going to be spending most of what she had she was going to make it stretch. For the short time she'd spent bargain hunting, she figured she'd done rather well, anyway. Hawke was honestly surprised (and quite a bit satisfied) that everything had gone off without a hitch; no pickpockets, no Templars, and no angry dwarves had interrupted things, and she got more from the market than she figured she would've. Keeping the basket where she could see it - no point tempting fate and hungry hands - Hawke ambled homeward, content to people-watch for the last time until she ran out of food and had to leave the house.

She spared a glance to the rare group of children playing off to the side of the street, under the watchful eyes of a few mothers. Her eyes swept over a shop that sold arms; The shields in particular. She really needed to get one of those at one point, but had kept procrastinating. And selling loot for the occasional silver. The next shield she found she would try to train with to finally get used enough to fighting with one to use it worth a damn; the last time had been embarrassing, and almost fatal. Walking past, she spotted that old deadbeat gambler, Gamlen. She snorted quietly. Once, in a tavern, a younger and more idiotic Hawke had been considering taking the risk of gambling her way to riches, and had overheard a conversation about Gamlen - who was present, which was probably why they talked loudly enough to be overheard - and how he'd inherited a great Hightown estate, started gambling and had his wealth drop all the way down to a Lowtown chamberpot. She'd shakily dropped the idea completely when she'd realised that all she had she could never afford to lose. Hawke gave him a little credit, now; at least he had been smart enough to quit before he hit the Darktown sewers. Seeing the obvious debtors about to administer a beating next to him however, it seems he hadn't been smart enough to quit entirely. Hawke looked away as she passed him and came to a darker alley, obviously used as a sewage tunnel access point. Something felt vaguely off, aside from the fact it was a dark alley in Kirkwall, but even at night it was generally safer than most due to the fact that nobody ever wanted to wait for victims next to open sewage. Hawke really didn't feel like wasting too much time going around, either way - it was situated right before a ravine that blocked the way between home and the closest market, and the next alley was even darker but not nearly as uninhabitable - and decided to suffer through the smell to get back home faster.

As she passed into the alley, the vague feeling of wrongness intensified - along with the stench - before abating suddenly. Disturbed, Hawke shifted the basket to her left hand, opening up her sword hand as she watched the shadows, clueless about what the feeling had been. As she came to halfway through the alley, suddenly the wrongness came back and spiked into an outright air of malevolence. Hawke had choked slightly, absently dropping the food basket as her hands opened to grasp for her blade, when a door ahead of her opened and two people walked out. Hawke stilled.

Not people. She could never have mistaken those for people, not after all her father had taught her; all he had taught her to run from for both her life and soul.

Before her were two of the most feared creatures of Thedas, two of the single biggest reason there were Circles and Templars in the first place. Hawke knew this. She took in every detail she saw, every mutation she instinctively recoiled from, as she stood there shocked. Both were heavily cloaked, with hoods thrown back. The one on the left was - had been - a woman; luscious black locks accentuated with flowing black horns, framing a face that could only be described as beautiful, lips just as violet as the glow in her eyes - oh, those eyes - Hawke shuddered as she threw off the beginnings of the compulsion, just as her father had taught her. She recoiled again at another look; The thing had changed, it's skin now tainted with blotches of purple and it's eyes now black aside from the violet glow, bright in the shadows as the thing frowned in irritation. The one on the right seemed not to have bothered trying to hide anything; it's mutations were obvious, flesh warped and twisting under a mop of grey hair and a single, baleful eye, it's hands visibly ending in very large claws, it's mouth conspicuously absent. Hawke had been stumbling backwards when a crash sounded behind her, shocking her into finally drawing her blade and swinging to the left halfway round to see, her heart in her throat; where it subsequently crashed into her gut as the crashing was followed by another of those things bursting through a door she'd passed, flickers of flame and smoke trailing from what was left. Hawke suddenly realised that the terrible feeling had come from her magic, which she'd never felt in such a way, and she knew she would never forget it, even as she came to another crushing realisation as the abominations - such a fitting name - stopped before her, the last one visibly straining to keep itself still.

She was going to die in this sewage-stinking alleyway.

Her hands shaking around her blade - the good thick Ferelden steel her only lifeline - Hawke jerked back slightly toward a sewer opening - could she? No, not even desperate smugglers use those - as the first - Desire, she figured - suddenly moved, but her fear was suddenly mixed with confusion as it only reached down into the basket she'd dropped, picked out an apple - she'd gotten a few as a treat, even as expensive as they are in bleak Kirkwall - and took a bite, resuming it's staring as it chewed. Hawke couldn't figure out what to do - couldn't (didn't want to) figure out why they weren't just attacking, ending her life oh so easily - and kept on standing, blade still shaking and swaying. She flinched back as the lone abomination on her right - Rage, probably? - roared out suddenly. **"Get this** _ **over with!**_ **"** it thundered, still twitching as if to rush forward. Desire sighed. "So impatient. I don't know why I put up with you." it responded in a mellifluous voice, idly floating the apple above it's hand. "It is a good point, however, so I shall begin. We mean you no harm," it said to Hawke's immense disbelief and shock, "so do not worry, little mageling. Harming you would in fact essentially be harming ourselves." it continued. Hawke still couldn't believe her ears. "What? Why?" she spat out, looking for something to make sense. Desire's stare gained a hint of annoyance. "I was getting to that." it muttered loudly. "We three have been searching for a mage free from that damnable circle who possesses something even resembling power for some time now. I'd almost given up hope of ever finding someone worthy until we felt your own considerable power being...exercised the last night." Hawke still didn't know what to feel, but she couldn't help feeling a tinge of smugness. Desire continued. "The reason we require your power is simple. We were summoned to this accursed city by pitiful weaklings who tried and failed to use us to compensate for their own weaknesses...among other things." it gave a snort. "While breaking free of their control was no trouble at all, well, breaking free of this world to return to where we belong simply can't be done by ourselves alone. We require an outsider, and you alone can fit the bill." She stated, her unblinking gaze never having left Hawke for a moment.

"Of course," Desire said suddenly, "I can hardly expect you to attempt this without any kind of recompense." Hawke shivered slightly. Did she forget something? "It is within our power to grant many things. We could give you power, but what need have you for more, shining brightly as you did before? I could bring you someone who would love you, but love is transient to you, isn't it?" she mused in a pleasing lilt. Hawke couldn't help but think of her past, before Kirkwall. Desire's gaze sharpened suddenly, and she took a step forward, while Hawke jerked her sword back up. "Oh, I might know what it is you seek. Do you seek an escape from this place as well, this Kirkwall?" she questioned as she continued slowly approaching. Hawke couldn't take her eyes off those violet glows. "Maybe what you seek is outside Kirkwall. Your family, maybe?" Hawke took a sharp intake of breath. "It would be well within our power to bring you to your family, Hawke. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Like the chance to see Mother and Father again," Father? "You'd like the chance to see how little Carver and Bethany have grown, wouldn't you?" What had Father said, once? It bugged her, but she opened her mouth. "Yes." She said, hoarsely. "I want that more than anything." she admitted. Desire's eyes gleamed and her mouth twitched into a smile. Beautiful. "As I have said, bringing you to them is well within our power. Before this can come to pass, however, you must perform us our service, and assist us in creating a Tear in the Veil so that we may...return home. Of course once we are free of these damned bodies we will be able to transport you to almost anywhere in the world, so…" Desire giggled lightly, taking Hawke's chin in her hand's soft touch, her violet gaze never breaking contact with Hawke's. She began to drift around Hawke, her touch slowly drifting away no matter how Hawke leaned after it, eventually drifting off completely as she sashayed around Hawke far enough that Hawke couldn't maintain eye contact. Hawke shivered again, as she felt her finger drawing a line along her neck. But what had Father told her? It must have been important. She felt like she could remember now for some reason, if only...Hawke flinched as she felt Desire's touch leaving her skin, and gave a slight plaintive mewl, trying to find it again. Hawke's searching was suddenly disrupted by a roar shaking her world, knocking her off balance, before she suddenly felt a vapid calm. Desire walked in front of her with a flash of irritation on her face, staring angrily away. "I apologise, but I must deal with this interruption. Do not worry, I will return soon." Hawke's fear of losing her had instantly been relieved, and so as she walked away to something vague Hawke turned her mind back to whatever Father had said. She could remember it much more clearly, for some reason. It had been about Desire? How had Father known about Desire? She finally found it, and latched onto the memory with glee.

\- _"A Desire demon's promises are a lot like a chocolate cupcake. It might let you have a bit of the great frosting before you decide, but it'll make you eat the whole thing in one go and it'll turn out half of it is made out of druffalo shite. Never trust a demon of Desire to tell you the truth."_ -

Hawke's mind stilled. What. Just...Why? Wait, not telling the truth? She looked to where she was, but could only see something hazy. Why couldn't she see her? Hawke suddenly had an idea. She could feel her with her magic, couldn't she? She needed to see her. Hawke closed her eyes briefly, tugging at her link to the Fade. Something irritated her for a moment, and disturbed, Hawke focused on it completely, and pushed at it. Suddenly the world opened up to her senses for a moment, and with it returned the almost crushing malevolent feeling of abominations. Abominations. Hawke noticed her - it - facing down Rage. It was cowering before Desire. She - it (Hawke already felt the compulsion returning) - changed mood suddenly. "Although I do admit that she seems particularly delicious, just the right amount of resistance and could be rather charming cleaned up a bit. After the veil is broken I think I shall keep her as a pet, before making her bring her family to me." It openly considered.

As the compulsion began attempting to fog her mind and her senses again, this time it didn't quite take hold. Hawke understood now. Pet. Slave. It would make her enslave her family. Hawke knew what to do.

She would die in this alleyway, but she would be taking her soul along with her.

Softly shattering the compulsion and being careful not to move too suddenly, Hawke brought and crossed her hands together - Where was her sword? - and closed her eyes, reaching deeply through her link to the fade, bringing forth power that she quickly channeled into an opening space between her hands, instinctively moving them to stabilize and contain, to shape it into what she knew best. Having brought forth almost all the power she could muster, Hawke's eyes snapped open with a look of determination. Whatever the abominations had been arguing about, they'd certainly stopped now. Hawke couldn't let them take the initiative. "I am nobody and nothing's slave, foul abomination!" she shouted, "Burn in whatever hell you came from!" Hawke finished in a roar, throwing her hands forward. **"Oh, bother."** the unknown abomination finally spoke in a languid tone, as an almighty firestorm of the kind Hawke never knew she had in her exploded into life in almost every part of the alleyway, reaching open sewage and detonating it suddenly, damaging the walls and cracking parts of the ground in it's fury as it rushed over the abominations, engendering roars of pain and vicious anger. Hawke let her hands drop as she started quickly searching around her for her sword - oh, right next to her - panting heavily. As she brought it up she heard one of the roars coming closer and looked up to see Rage charging through the flames, ignoring the fact that it was on fire itself, hands extending forward as if to wring her neck. Half dodging and half jumping to the side as it came too close, Hawke bit out a curse as she failed to get in a stab and only managed to slash it's arm, only succeeding in pissing it off more. She knew it wasn't the only one, though, and as the flames were beginning to die down due to lack of air - Hawke herself could attest to this, sucking in painful breaths - she could see the other two surprisingly only lightly harmed, frost faintly visible in the air around Desire whose face was a blackened mask of fury even as it trailed smoke, and the other who seemed to have simply taken the flames and put them out afterward, although it's cloak still had the occasional flame licking from it.

As they began advancing and Rage had swung around to face her again, Hawke tried to think of a way out of this, but had come up empty when a reverberating horn blast sounded faintly, almost completely covered by the high alley walls and the flames and roaring of abominations within them. She'd just about convinced herself she'd imagined it when it sounded again as she swung her sword lengthwise into Rage's outstretched claw-bound hand, cleaving through halfway and receiving another roar of wrath before she had to pull out the sword. Hawke suddenly remembered: It was one of the City Guard's emergency horns, spread throughout the city to call more guardsmen. They were coming; they'd seen and heard the explosions and fire. The Templars would have still been looking for her, too. These were abominations. They would help. Would they make it in time, though?

Not as it is, Hawke reflected as Desire finally arrived in the fight, pushing forward a harsh blast of ice that Hawke instinctively jumped back from, forgetting to stop herself from retaliating with a blast of fire from her offhand and almost completely exhausting her power. As she swung wide at Rage (why wasn't it on fire anymore?) to force it away for a moment she noticed the other abomination still ambling towards them from her side - it was probably a Sloth demon, actually - and the end of the alleyway behind it. She was already tiring holding off two abominations and she couldn't possibly last against three, so she made a split second decision. Gathering all that remained of the energy that leaked to her from the Fade, Hawke compressed all of it into her offhand and immediately released it again in a concussive blast that forced back both Rage and Desire, pushing them out of her suddenly open path as she stumbled into a run even as she blinked away stars from the total lack of the energy she'd always felt before now. Even as Desire let out a scream of fury behind her she completely locked her focus on Sloth and made to sprint widely left around it, her gut clenching as it abandoned it's easy amble to try to intercept her. Seeing it about to catch her side she swung wildly at it and was rewarded with a sort of grunt as her blade caught and cut into it's arm as it hadn't stopped fast enough to dodge. Finding her path completely open now, Hawke kept sprinting towards the homeward alley entrance, ichor-like blood gleaming almost proudly from the blade bobbing in front of her. She wasn't sure how far she'd be able to run before they caught her. She wouldn't, - couldn't - believe they wouldn't follow her out onto the open street, now that they'd almost certainly be exposed anyway.

Sprinting the fastest she'd ever been, Hawke had almost made it to the street when an intense heat flashed across her back, and in distraction she didn't notice the raised slatestone until she tripped on it. In confused terror she threw her hands and sword forward, catching her fall as the intense heat turned blazing before roaring overhead. Hawke looked up quickly enough to see a fireball exploding in the street ahead as she stumbled up and spun around as quickly as her bruising hands allowed, seeing the trio almost on top of her. Knowing with a fatalism she'd never had before that there were no more chances, was no more escape, Hawke brought her sword around to swing heavily against the closest; Rage. Abandoning defense almost completely as she brought the blade around, cleaving deeply into it's chest as it howled in pained rage. Hawke felt honestly surprised before she saw it's hand reaching at her face. Trying to jump back but finding her sword caught in the abomination, she screamed as burning hot claws pulled across her jaw; across her eye. Still screaming as her sword finally pulled free - her left eye was red why is it red - she slashed wildly at the monster she could barely see past the blood and felt it catch as the howling in front of her suddenly choked off. Did she kill it? Trying to blink away the blood to see and moaning as the pain in her left intensified she'd just managed to see the hand coming at her before it caught her in the neck and lifted.

Choking, Hawke felt her sword pulling away and brought her hands to her neck, trying to fight it off. Her eye snapped to the end of the arm holding her and she caught sight of burning violet eyes. The tainted face they belonged to was vexed. "You really should have taken the offer, you know. Much better than death, don't you think?" it spat at her. Hawke hacked out a giggle - it was too tight to laugh - and as the death grip softened enough for her to speak, she replied. "Death is so much better than slavery, and I'll always die before letting you hurt any of them." she choked out before the grip tightened inexorably. "It's too bad you'll die now before truly keeping me away from them, isn't it? If your sister is even half the mageling you are, she'll be well worth the effort." it offhandedly replied in it's lilting voice, as Hawke redoubled her struggling. Hawke couldn't get it off - too tight - but it was in arm's reach wasn't it? Dropping her right to grasp wildly for her dagger, she pulled and swung only to have her hand caught and crushed and she screamed anew. "Good try, good enough I think I'll give you back your little knife now." This hit Hawke's dismayed and fogging mind just before the dagger stabbed deeply into her gut. She whimpered, no longer able to summon anything more. "Goodbye, little mageling." it said as it tossed her off to the side, where she slammed into the wall head-first with a heavy crack. As she fell sideways, she knew no more.

* * *

"Knight Commander!" one of her men called, attracting her attention away from the corpse they hadn't had to fight. "This woman - She's still alive!" he reported. She looked at her - she certainly didn't look alive - wearing leather armour with patchwork metal, bloody and blackened claw marks scratched across her face, seemingly having lost a lot of blood from a wound on her head somewhere and the dagger almost proudly resting in her gut with the bloody splats on the wall behind her. She has to be tough to survive still. She looked back at the sword that had cut halfway through the abomination's neck. Strong, too.

Her decision made, she called the healer away from her men's comparatively light wounds, and those of the dead could wait. Looking at her again, she certainly couldn't.

* * *

Author's note: I think Abominations actually lack magical attacks in the games but if so that's bullshit and I'm ignoring it. A few coppers will probably, realistically, buy you enough to eat if there's enough to eat.

Finally; I expected to have a backlog of chapters to take second looks through before putting out before releasing this as a story. Turns out this took so long I figured I should just put this out now. Don't expect anything for a while, I'll be honest, but do expect _something,_ eventually.


	2. Chapter 2 - Initiate I

Chapter Two - 9:27 Dragon

Pain.

Dim.

Sounds.

Pain.

Screaming?

Where am I?

 _-sleep.-_

I faded away.

...

Pain. But less?

Whimpers.

 _-sleep.-_

...

I woke up again, this time hacking and coughing. Again?

As my coughing subsided, I remembered the times I'd woken up before. There had been pain. Where was the pain? The agony I hadn't felt suddenly hit me like a hammer and I instinctively tried to double over - but then it subsided and I fell back the short distance I'd been able to move. I groaned, shifting slightly.

Where am I? As my eyes finally flickered open, I saw a ceiling.

A completely flat stone ceiling. I also happened to be lying on something soft. There were noises, faint and echoey, but I couldn't tell what they were.

The pain hit me again and as I stiffened up, I could feel almost softly burning pain on the left side of my face, a dull but insistent throbbing ache in my head and a strange mix of numbness and almost agony - which was what was spiking periodically - in my gut. As I again, still somewhat tense in anticipation of the next spike, I heard something unlatching - down there, a bar door - and looking down I saw someone in heavy armour walk through, then stand next to the metal bar door. Around him (or her?) there were large tables next to stone slabs that were probably meant to have beds on them arrayed across the room. The armoured one was followed by a man in bustling robes mumbling to himself.

I thought he looked a bit like a nug. What was a nug?

As Nug-Man approached, I stopped trying to lift my head so much and was surprised as it suddenly fell and hit the hard pillow, wiping out my thoughts in a flash of pain as I let out a strangled moan. Eyes screwed tightly shut I suddenly felt a soothing force passing through my head, and as I blinked up blearily I saw a soft green glow until it tapered off to reveal the man's hands over my head. As I sighed in relief, he began scrutinizing my face.

"You're awake." he said suddenly, almost but not quite touching the burning's source, a faint glow suffusing his fingers. I blinked up at him, not sure what to say. "I am." I said, not sure what else to say. He huffed in return. "Good. I am Enchanter Lamarr, not that you'll care." he stated offhandedly, shifting his attention to her waist. I felt confused. "Why wouldn't I care, ah…" what was the word? Oh. "Serah Enchanter?" I asked, and was startled slightly when he turned to glare at me. "It is not Serah Enchanter, nor is it simply Lamarr, it is only Enchanter Lamarr, or Enchanter. Knew you peasants weren't smart enough to know anything…" he tailed off into his normal mumble.

Well. Feeling insulted I didn't say anything in return, although I did feel my expression change, wincing as I felt my - injury? It must be an injury - stretch. I realised he hadn't actually answered my question. I decided I didn't care. Ha. The Enchanter stood up and faced me again. "It has been eight days since you were brought here and I am honestly surprised you remain alive. The illnesses brought from your torn intestines should have killed you slowly and before that your skull fracture should have killed you when it happened. Both have been healed surprisingly well." the Enchanter stated. I was injured that badly? How? And what about- "Your facial injuries, after I felt the others had stabilised enough that I could pay attention to such less important things, were not so conveniently easy to heal and will almost certainly horrifically scar. I imagine one such as you will likely treat it as a badge of honour anyway." he finished almost indifferently.

I felt bewildered. How had I been… "How?" I spoke suddenly. "How was I injured so badly?"

Enchanter Lamarr stilled, ceasing his incoherent mumbling, his gaze sharpening on me. "The head wound." he muttered, moving back to beside my head, fingers glowing anew. "Must have...Girl." he spoke as he lifted my head without asking to reach the fracture. "Do you know your name?"

I didn't - my name? - Why wouldn't I… "My name is…" I started saying, but couldn't finish. What was my name? Why don't I know my name? As I began to panic, a blast of pain whited out my thoughts and I cried out. It subsided almost as quickly as it came, leaving me gasping. "Try now." the man told me. I tried, trying to remember the faintest hint. "My name is…" I tried again before I faltered, failing, but something tickled my thoughts. "My name is Ha...Hawke!" I almost shouted in my elation. It felt right, Hawke. The tickling sensation left, and I felt the Enchanter pull his hand away from the injury, shaking it slightly. "Is that so? Is it that all there is to your name?" he asked, still staring at me sharply. "I don't...maybe. I don't remember." I admitted. "But it is my name." I added quickly, knowing it was true.

The Enchanter hmmed. "Do you remember anything else." he asked. I didn't know - couldn't think of anything. The room felt darker. "No. I don't remember anything…" I said, vaguely feeling my eyes closing. "I don't remember…"

The room went dark and I knew no more.

* * *

The next time I woke, I was the only person in the room. As I lay there, in consistent dulled pain and biting hunger, I was thinking. How did I get here? Was anyone waiting for me, looking for me? Do they need my help?

I might never know, and that scares me.

The sound of the door unlatching attracted my attention and I saw the nug-like enchanter stroll through with his ubiquitous mumble followed by two guards, both deciding to stand beside the door. The enchanter kept walking to my bed, looking up from the bowl he was stirring in his hands only when he was next to me. "Oh good, you're awake. Drink this." he rattled off as he pulled me up slowly and held the bowl of foul-smelling concoction to my lips.

It tasted disgusting as I choked it down and I started trying to cough it up almost immediately.

"Oh be quiet, it's good for you." he scolded me as he let me down before turning to the door. "Weren't one of you leaving?" he bit off at the guards and turned back to me as one of them did so. "Now, you. What do you know of Kirkwall?" he asked. I couldn't think of anything. "Ah, Nothing?" I replied half questioningly. He huffed. "Figures. That Templar who just left has gone to get the Knight Commander of the Templar Order in Kirkwall. The grand bitch herself." he added in an almost inaudible mutter. "You are here in an old and recently unused sickroom in the Gallows, part of Kirkwall and home to the Templars and the Circle of Magi. I'll get to that later. The city of Kirkwall is a coastal city in the Free Marches. To the south over the sea lies Ferelden. West past Cumberland is Orlais. The rest you can find yourself on a map." he dictated, as he started mixing a new concoction. I felt myself trying to lean away instinctively, and I agreed with my instincts. Whatever was in that couldn't be good.

"Now." he continued suddenly, still stirring. "Knight Commander Meredith Stannard is, again, the head of the Templar Order in Kirkwall. That's a Templar over there." he waved carelessly at the man next to the door. "They always wear robe-skirts with their armour." he added before continuing. "The Templars lock up the Circle of Magi in the Gallows because we're 'dangerous' and 'it's for the good of everyone involved'" he said in a curiously high pitched voice. "I'm an Enchanter, a full fledged member of the Circle, by the way. Now drink this." he said bringing up the bowl as I tried and failed to leap off the bed, letting out a small cry as my injuries spiked in pain. "I told you, it's good for you." he started berating as he lifted me again. "Now suck it up and drink."

It somehow tasted even worse than the last one, and I couldn't and didn't bother trying to hold in a groan as I was let back down. I heard armour shifting (maybe uncomfortably?) and managed to stop myself from crying out for him to save me from the dangerous one. I wouldn't have meant it as a joke.

"Not very talkative, are you?" the enchanter noted. "You haven't complained nearly as much as I expected." he said as he cleaned up his work. "Anyway, the Knight Commander should be here soon, apparently she wants to see you. No idea why." he mentioned offhandedly. The Knight Commander? See me? "Really? Me?" I asked in bewilderment. "Yes. You. No idea why." he replied simply before starting up his idle mumble interspersed occasionally with the word 'peasant'.

"Huh." I tried to figure out why, but I still couldn't remember. Would the Knight Commander know anything? As I thought about it, I heard clanking sounds echoing through the metal bar door. The enchanter looked up briefly. "Ah, that's probably her now. Whatever it is she wants, don't make her angry." he advised, packing up something on the side table he stood at.

As nervous as I was already, I didn't really want to think about what the Knight Commander, whoever she was, would be like angry. Wait, weren't you supposed to wear your best clothes when meeting someone important? I wasn't sure how I knew that, but what am I wearing? Managing to crane my head enough to look down, I saw a blanket. Oh. Feeling through my skin though I could tell that I was wearing clothes under it. That's good.

As I let my head fall back (ow) my attention was instantly caught by the door opening - I hadn't noticed them arriving - and a group of four Templars walked through. Craning my head again I saw one slipping into the spot the other guard had left earlier next to the door, while the other three walked toward my bed and the enchanter. The one in front, of what I could see, was a woman wearing a red coif over a golden headband with a spike. Her vivid blue eyes were fixed on me, and I knew she was the Knight Commander, the most important person I knew of, as I shivered in nerves.

She was the first to speak, eyes flicking away from me to the man next to me. "Is she healthy, healer?" she questioned. He seemed to be shrinking back into his boots quite a bit. "Y-Yes, Knight Commander. She's taken her potions and will be in perfect health until she falls asleep in twenty minutes. Aside from the ah, amnesia." he stammered quickly. Her eyes fell back to me, and I couldn't help stiffening. "Good." she said, still looking at me. "You're dismissed for that time." she added, almost as an afterthought, eyes only leaving me to track him as he quickly passed her with a 'yes, knight commander' and left the room.

Her eyes flicked back to me and I somehow managed to tense further in my nervousness. "Do you know who I am?" she asked, suddenly. "I ah, yes Knight Commander Serah - wait no - Serah Knight Commander" I blurted out hastily, my face feeling hot enough to catch fire. "I, um, sorry." I said, trying to bury myself deeper into the bed. She only raised an eyebrow in response to my flailing before continuing. "Were you told of how you came to be here?" she asked. She knows? _Of course she knows she's the Knight Commander._ "No? Will you tell me?" I asked, almost praying. "I will." she replied, and my mood soared. "Two weeks ago, a week before we found you, three of the mages under our protection fell to the temptations of demons and became abominations, and thereafter managed to escape the Circle." she began, stoically. "Do you understand so far?" she asked. There was one word - "Almost, but I don't know what abominations are?" I questioned quietly. She stared at me shortly before replying. "Abominations are created when a mage's will falters and they allow themselves to be possessed by a demon. The demon takes the mage's soul, chains the mage's will and claims the body as theirs. They are dangerous; a single abomination can and will kill many Templars before it is brought down. This time, there were three." she dictated. I felt cold. "Moving on. For a week we searched deeply through Kirkwall for these abominations. Our search came to an end when an explosion sounded throughout Lowtown, alerting both us and the City Guard." she recounted.

"When we caught them at the site of the explosion, in a sewage alley, we found only two of them standing. The third had been killed by a sword cutting halfway into it's neck, and it's only possible wielder had been thrown into a wall and left with a dagger in her gut." she told me, still staring at me with blue eyes all the while. It was me? "Battle was joined, then. The two abominations took the lives of many of the city Guardsmen and three of my Templars, before they were brought down. If not for your sacrifice in taking down the third beforehand, they will undoubtedly have taken more lives before falling. If not for you, we may never have caught them in the first place." she informed me. I could barely believe it. "When we discovered that you survived still, I had you brought here to the Gallows to have you healed in our gratitude and to make you an offer." she revealed.

I felt in awe. I had managed to kill one of the feared abominations? Alone? Dear...something I've forgotten. But wait. "An...offer?" I asked faintly.

She nodded. "An offer. You were tough enough to survive mortal wounds, and you are expected to heal very quickly - perhaps even fully. You were strong enough to take on three abominations and kill one of them, against all odds, even if luck played a part, and finally, even if you have lost your skills, they can be re-taught. The Templar Order could use more men and women like you. But you do not have to answer immediately-" she added, "-the loss of your memories in fact, means you cannot truly answer now. Over the next week you will be taught more of the world you've forgotten, and by week's end, you may give me your answer." she instructed me, and I felt overwhelmed. "Ah - yes, Knight Commander, I'll give my answer...next week." I responded almost lamely. She nodded in response. "Good. I have business to attend to, so I shall be leaving. I look forward to our next meeting, Serah Hawke." she stated with a twitch of a smile. I felt my face reddening again, remembering my introduction. "Goodbye, Knight Commander." I replied, happy that I hadn't messed it up again, I think. She stopped as soon as I said it, though, and I panicked slightly. "I almost forgot to mention," she began, "that you needn't fear of leaving anyone behind. Nobody has reported a Hawke as missing to the Guard." she finished. "Good day." she left off with as she began leaving the room with the same three Templars she'd entered with.

As the door clanged shut behind them, leaving the lone Templar on guard, I was left to my thoughts. I still felt completely overwhelmed as I relaxed into a post nervous wreck, but I was relieved that I hadn't left anyone alone and helpless, even as a flicker of loneliness found me because of it.

My thoughts continued until I drifted off to sleep.

...

I accepted the offer and joined the Templar Order seven days later.

* * *

Authors notes: I know nothing scientific about amnesia and I'm not going to research anything about it because i want to play with it as a plot thingy and I wouldn't change anything anyway. Don't judge me.

I also don't know very much about surgery and related things and that'll take far too long to research for me to bother.

There was meant to be a third segment to this chapter (involving the week's healing, walking about and actually joining) but I couldn't figure out how to write it without it being abysmally boring and gave up and copped out with the last line.

Finally: I decided to change writing style from third to first person halfway through writing this, and dear god it be so much better and easier to write. I might leave the first chapter as is, though, because that's supposed to be a 'different' pre-amnesia Hawke. Then again, I might not.


	3. Chapter 3 - Initiate II: Acclimatization

Author's Notes

I found a really good spot to end halfway through the chapter on and decided to end halfway through the chapter, just because it's been waiting a while for release. Second part should come sooner, maybe.  
Or maybe not.

Leggings sounds suitably more medieval than pants, and that's why I use it extensively in the place of the word pants. Same with the word tunic. Hopefully I won't have to deal with clothes much more this story.

Multi-person conversations are hard to start writing. My newly-educated opinion after a week of being stuck on a sentence.

I forgot to mention before, Hawke's appearance is main female canon with a very big scar along the left of her jaw, based on my Inquisition character's scar (it was a great day when I stumbled across the exact positioning of the best possible scar in the character creator), minus the obvious bloodstripe. I'll probably detail it later.

It also came to my attention during research that Templars are mainly recruited from lay brothers/sisters of the Chantry. Let's have that be Thedas-usual but Kirkwall also recruits from wider sources.

* * *

Chapter 3 - 9:27 Dragon - Acclimatization 1

I shifted in irritation. We'd all been waiting and standing still in a single line in the inner courtyard for every passing Templar and even a few mages to giggle at for at least an hour now.

My legs were almost done, no matter how I felt about it.

Repressing a sigh, I surreptiously glanced right again, rechecking my count of the recruits. It still looked like about twenty, including me. I was sitting on the very left end of the line.

What was the - ah - Maker curse the bastard watching from the staircase making sure we didn't move or speak at all. Why would he even...ugh.

To try and distract myself, I decided to review everything that'd happened in my head. First, I spent a week unconscious and in extreme pain, apparently. Then I spent a week conscious and in dull pain. Now, a week after that, I was in twingy pain but could move however I wanted, after walking down and up and down and up and down and up these very, extremely, onerous staircases.

Please, dear - Andraste or Maker? - one of you, please tell me I'm not going to have to run them now. Not after all this standing. No.

" **INITIATES!** Your trainer has arrived!"

Thank the Maker. Thank Andraste. Thank anything at all.

He was striding down the staircase, clad in full - dented and pockmarked - armour, wearing his shield on his back with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He was bald with extremely large pale blonde sideburns and an almost ridiculous moustache to match. We didn't care. We would finally be _moving._

He stopped in front of us, sweeping his gaze across us and ending in me, before looking away again. He coughed once before starting. "Initiates! I am Ser Roderick. That, and 'Ser' is the only name you will call me by. Know this! You are not Templars! You are not Templar Squires! You will never have Templar Squires! There is indeed no such thing as Templar Squires! If you cannot manage your armour, your weapon, and yourself, _by yourself,_ you will never be able to attend the duties of the Templars! You would indeed not amount to anything at all, but most importantly, at this very moment, you are not Templars!" he bellowed. "Right now, you are completely unworthy of our title and our duty, but by the Maker, I will _make_ you worthy! Now, I require introductions. Begin from left to right, you." he said, looking at me. Ah.

"Hawke!" I shouted. "Agatha!" shouted the woman next to me. "Moira!", "Erin!", "Mettin!", "Adrian De Lauret!", and so it went on to "Dwaine!", and "Berkley!" to finish. Turns out I'd been right, there were exactly twenty of us. Ser Roderick took a second look over us, and seemed fairly satisfied.

"Now! What you are wearing is worthless to me, just as you yourselves are! Follow me, and I shall see you properly attired! You on the leftmost, lead the left ten in a line! You on the rightmost, lead the right ten right next to them! Now, Follow!" he ordered loudly, spinning off and marching back up the central staircase. I wasn't exactly sure what to do, but I stepped forward anyway and felt the stares of my group almost instantly. Looking to them, I noticed the man on the right - Berkley - simply walking off with his group trailing and decided to copy him. Waving my group to me vaguely, I stepped off and walked quickly to catch up with our trainer.

As we haphazardly marched through one of the inner gates of the Gallows structure following the blade of flames on the shield Ser Roderick hung on his back, the people behind me started talking quietly amongst themselves. They were far enough back that I couldn't hear exactly was said, but in my distraction I almost walked into Ser Roderick when he stopped on the spot and turned around as the person behind me bumped into me.

"Initiates!" He yelled, silencing everyone else. "You are not to speak unless it is necessary or you are spoken to! Gossip is for housewives and I will not train you to become so, so remain silent!" he berated before spinning around again and continuing on his path through the corridors as we started following again, moving into the Templar Quarter I'd been shown before on my exercise walks. We passed barracks-rooms, a hallway with the promise of food, and as we passed Templars they almost always stopped and turned to watch our passing.

As we came to a large door at the end of the corridor, Ser Roderick stopped and turned to us again. "This is the Armoury." he stated. "Here you will be issued the preparations for true attire in the armour worn by us in the service of Andraste and the Maker" he said rapping his gauntlet against his breastplate "rather than those ponsy fancy dresses those Hightown sops love to wear. Can't take a blade, any of them." he said, snorting derisively. "Now, Come!" he ordered, turning back and pushing the door open into a new hallway with a desk stretching almost completely across it but for a gap on one side to walk past. A helmetless Templar sat on it and barely looked up at us from whatever he had in his hands.

As Ser Roderick walked up to the desk with us in tow the man finally looked up. "Greetings, Ser Roderick. Are they the recruits or are they street rabble you've found?" he asked blandly. Our trainer chuckled. "Both, Ser Quartermaster." What? His name - "I have brought them here to receive their armour robes and to be fitted for the first parts of their armour." he detailed. Armour robes? I looked down to the robe around our trainer's legs. Ah.

Ser Quartermaster (such a strange name) left the desk and walked off to one of the rooms behind him. Ser Roderick turned back to us again. "Now, recruits. You will be issued your robes two by two in the lines you are in. Once you have received them you will don them in those rooms, women in that one-" pointing to a door to our left "-and men in that one." pointing to a door opposite that. Ser Quartermaster came back out of the room he was in carrying two stacked crates full of what were probably robes. As he walked to us Ser Roderick spoke up again. "When you have donned them return and reform these lines. Now. These robes are made up of thick cloth, and will protect you from the pains that will occur when wearing plate without them. If you cannot fit the leggings, be they too tight, or too loose, wear your own until you are fitted for new ones." he said, turning back to the quartermaster who had dropped the crates behind his desk with a huff. "Ready? Good." Ser Quartermaster stated. "You two, forward." as we stepped forward, he gave Berkley next to me a searching look. "You look standard size. Here." he said, opening one of the crates, pulling out and handing a thick bundle to Berkley beside me, who took it and started walking off, as the quartermaster turned to me and repeated the look-over. "You're female...you look standard...here." he repeated, repeating the process with the other crate and handing me a bundle which I took quickly, and left for the room to the side.

Hearing him continue as I pushed the door open, I walked through until I turned a corner and came to a room full of benches. Dropping my bundle on one of them I started sorting through it.

The robe was large with short sleeves and a big front and back split halfway down, there were full hardened leather leggings with cloth parts behind the knees and string bundles set down the legs, and a red sash ending in a thicker part with the starburst. Remembering it on every Templar I've seen, I think it's pretty obvious where it goes. Not sure how to put it on, though, but I'm fairly sure it goes last anyway. No boots, though?

May as well start with the leggings, I guess.

As I sat on the bench next to my table and started unstrapping my boots, someone else came in and set her things next to mine. "Greetings, I am Agatha." she said suddenly. "Ah - Greetings, my name is Hawke." I returned, taking a look at her as I pulled my boots off. She had long black hair and brown eyes, and was wearing what were probably Hightown clothes. I noticed she hadn't moved since I'd looked at her and glanced up to catch her staring. She quickly broke eye contact with a mumbled apology and sat down. I suddenly realised what she'd been staring at, and rubbed at the heavy scar on the left of my jaw. We changed in silence for a time, and I'd managed to change my leggings to the new ones which turned out to fit - the leather is annoyingly hard, and what are all these strings on the outsides for anyway - when someone else came in. Turning to look, I noted her shoulder-length reddish hair and grey-blue eyes before speaking up. "Greetings, my name is Agatha." the obvious said. "Mine is Hawke." I added. The newcomer's gaze flicked over us for a second, flicking back to me for a second longer with a start. "I'm Moira." she finally responded before she sat down on a bench next to us.

I looked back to my new robe. I'd probably have to take off my tunic before putting it on. May as well get on with it, I guess.

"What's this, and how 'mi supposed to wear it?" Moira asked, holding up the red sash. "That? That's worn around your hips and the end with the gold starburst looking thing left hanging in front of your legs. It goes on last, over everything including armour." I told her. I have been living around Templars for weeks, now, after all. Admittedly I still couldn't figure out how I would make it stay on, but she didn't need to know that. "Thanks." She replied, and I nodded before turning back and pulling off my tunic. Looking over the robe it didn't open in the front so I'd have to put it on overhead, and as I was pulling it on I heard the others greeting someone new. I finished pulling on the robe and gave it a quick check to make sure I had it on right before taking a look at the new one. Her hair was dark brown and her eyes a bright green, and a few scars cut over her nose and across her right cheek.

"My name is Hawke." I added to the other two's greetings. She looked at me and grinned, to my surprise. "Mine's Erin!" she declared as she dropped her bundle on a bench. I looked back to the sash I still didn't know how to put on. It might have a catch or something? Unfolding it completely, it turned out that the flared part with the starburst was actually hard leather sewn inside cloth and it was actually sewn into the cloth part of the sash sideways so that it formed an L-shape. On the sides at the top of the main part were two leather loops...which it seemed the long cloth part would feed into very well.

I suppose they've had over eight ages to make it easier to figure out how to wear.

Shrugging to myself, I held the main part to my front and pulled the cloth around and through the loops once, and then twice before pulling it completely tight and stuffing the remaining cloth under the sash. Pulling at it to test, it held firm enough. Time to put my boots back on. "You figured out how to wear that?" Agatha asked, already done with her robe and leggings. "It's made to be surprisingly easy to put on, actually, turns out it's a lot like a belt." I explained as I pulled the boots on and started tying them up. "Just feed the cloth through the loops and stuff the rest under and you'll be fine." I added. "Thanks for that." both Agatha and Moira replied as I finished, collecting my clothes into a new bundle and carrying them underarm. "Bye." I called as I started walking out, hearing more 'bye's coming after me. Walking back around the corner I spotted someone coming into the door, and gave her a short wave as I passed.

Coming back out into the hall I noticed the lines were much shorter now. "Hawke! Back of your line." Ser Roderick called out. Nodding, I walked there and stood silently as Ser Quartermaster continued sorting through the lines and Ser Roderick sorted them back. "Hey." Agatha called from behind me, obviously done with the short-sleeved robe and the sash. "Hey." I returned, turning back to the Quartermaster. A Half minute later there was only one more recruit before I was the front of my line again. "You, male, bit small. Here." The quartermaster issued and I was the front of the line again.

"Alright, you two. Leggings fit well?" the Quartermaster asked. "Yes, Ser Quartermaster." I said, as Berkley said something similar. He gave me a droll look. "Call me Ser. Now…" he said, arranging writing paper on his desk, and standing up. "You will now be fitted for helmets, your leggings can be changed for a better fit, and you will receive spares of everything you're wearing now. When more of you come out of the changing rooms, pass the word." he dictated to the group. He then jerked suddenly and looked down at our sashes, before facepalming. "Damn. Forgot the belts. I'll be back soon, Roderick." he said, turning and walking off into one of the rooms behind him.

Everyone had come out of the changing rooms by the time he came out again, now holding a crate. He walked over to his desk, placed the crate close to the side, and looked over the lines. "They all back? Good." he said, quickly opening and digging through the crate and pulling out a belt and pouch, both of which he handed to Berkley. "Send this to the back of the line." he said, taking another pair. "Same thing." he said as he handed them to me, and I turned and passed them along. "Drop your clothes to the side, put the pouches on the belt and put the belt once you get it, pass to the back of the line." he yelled, handing more out to Berkley and I to pass back. We'd passed back nine pairs before the Quartermaster handed us ours with a 'These are yours, put them on.' Threading the belt through the pouch belt until the pouch sat where I figured my right hip would be, I put the belt on and cinched it tight over the sash and through the sash's loops. It'll probably help keep the sash from slipping down, actually. Ser Quartermaster took the time to walk around the edge of the desk to stand next to us, placing a book he'd gotten from somewhere and quill with inkpot next to him, as well as a leather strip with evenly spaced markings on it.

"Right, now. I'll be seeing to your leggings if they don't fit, fitting you for Helmets, as well as handing you spares of your robes and leggings. You, come here." he said, pointing to me and picking up the strip as I walked closer. "Here, stand still." he said, holding one end of the strip to my forehead, bringing the other around and pulling them tight for a second, before taking it away. "Alright, I have your fit. What's your name?" he asked, dropping the strip on the desk and picking up the book. "Hawke." I said, as he opened it and flipped the pages, stopping on one, picking up and inking the quill before starting to write in part of it. "Alright, good, now…" he said, looking over at the crates over the desk, before looking back with a grimace. "Ser Roderick, would you mind bringing the robe crates around while I do this? I keep forgetting things lately." he said, his grimace not leaving his face for a few moments as our trainer agreed, and walked around. "Right, name?" he said to Berkley, picking up the strip again.

As he did the same thing with Berkley as he did with me, Ser Roderick brought around both of the crates, dropping them next to the large desk. Why is it so big, anyway? It doesn't have anything on the top except for where he sat. Once the quartermaster finished writing in his book he walked over to the crates, and picked out a bundle from each before walking back to us. "You both fit well so no changes, these are your spares. Pick up your clothes and go to the back of the line." he said, handing us the bundles before turning back to the desk. I dropped the bundle on top of my old clothes and picked both up before walking back. Time to stand around even more.

* * *

When the last of us had been fitted, refitted where necessary and given our spares (luckily the crates hadn't quite run out), Ser Roderick brought us back into the hallway towards whichever barracks we would be living in from now on. As we passed the branching hallway again I caught the scent of something that promised dinner, and my stomach gurgled quietly. Thankful we were walking loudly enough to drown that out, I continued on.

Eventually Ser Roderick stopped in front of two doors and turned around, eyeing us. "Eleven men and nine women. Surprisingly high amount of women this group. You are assigned two barracks rooms. Women this one." pointing to the door to our right. "Men this one." pointing to the opposite on the left. "Pick out a bed and chest. The chests will all have their keys in their locks. Don't lose them. Be back quickly, go." he dictated, and we split off to our respective rooms. I took a quick look around to try to memorize where we were before going inside. There were actually nine beds, and a space where another obviously used to be on the right side of the door. Passing a few beds that had already been picked I found one unclaimed right in the middle of the room on the left side. Dropping my bundle on the bed I ducked down to the chest at the foot of the bed, testing the lid and finding it already unlocked. I pulled it open and dropped my bundle in before closing and turning the key to lock it, taking the key out.

Where to keep the key, though? It didn't have a string. Probably my new pouch?

Checking the pouch which turned out to be string-tied closed, I put my key into it before pulling it closed again, and left the room. Ser Roderick stood with his arms crossed in the middle of the hallway, recollecting his lines. "Hawke, front of your line." he ordered, noticing me come out. I walked around and assumed my spot quietly, as he raised his brow and then mumbled "Soon." to himself. I had no idea what he was talking about.

We waited half a minute with Ser Roderick recreating the old lines in the direction we came from - probably just for something to do, honestly - before everyone was out and back in line. "Alright, Initiates! Before we return to the armoury for helmets, we shall visit the commons to eat." Ser Roderick declared, turning and marching off. I wholeheartedly approved and followed quickly.

* * *

The commons, it turned out, was very, very big. The room was filled with a mix of oversized tables with matching benches, smaller tables surrounded by chairs and many, many Templars sitting in groups both large and small, all of whom spared us at least a glance. I heard a few of them saying 'Bare-arm recruits'. Cutting into a wall to the side were two large serving benches, and straight over them was a direct view into the also very large kitchens. On top of these benches were some very interesting and also very big pots, almost all with steaming contents.

This whole room and everything about it is still really, really big. Staircases linking to all different levels of the building connect right to it. The hallway branch between our barracks and the armoury turned out to be one of the many ground level entrances. I counted nine support columns reaching into the arching ceiling, the centre column the tallest of all.

After I'd been forced out of my star-struck meandering by Ser Roderick stopping right in front of me (and almost walking into him), he pointed a table to us, said 'You will eat there', pointed at the pots in front of the kitchens and said 'That is what you will eat', then he flicked his hand away at us and said 'Get to it.' before walking in that direction. When I'd obtained my meal - an unusually heavenly smelling stew compared to what I'd had for weeks now - and brought it to the table, I found myself surrounded by the three I'd briefly met in the changing room as I tried to savor the rich food but still eat fast enough to be done and ready when we had to go.

"Almost can't believe I'm really here, joining the ranks of the Templars!" the tawny one - Moira - said, her eyes almost glowing looking at one of the closer bunches of Templars. "Dad always said that if he still had both hands he would've come here; said it was one of the best callings known to anybody, except for the Grey Wardens." she continued, before taking a few more bites of her food as Agatha (with the black hair) looked over. "The sisters in the chantry said so too, that I would be happier here than if I took the vows and became a sister myself. I'm not sure why, exactly." Agatha said, with a slight frown. "There's not anywhere I'd rather be, myself. If I weren't here, I don't know where I'd go." Erin (the brown haired one) added. Interested, I kept paying attention. "Where're you lot all from, anyway?" Moira asked us.

I started feeling very uncomfortable. Thankfully she wasn't looking at me specifically.

"I became a lay-sister in the chantry when they took me in after my parents...vanished...on a road somewhere out of Kirkwall. A while after that everyone kept suggesting I become a Templar as I said, and here I am now." Agatha told us. "You, Moira?" she asked quickly. "Well, I've lived in Lowtown with my Father all my life. Dad makes little things and sells them, and I don't remember Mum. Dad doesn't like to talk about her, either." she said with a quick scowl. "How'bout you, Hawke?" she asked, turning the focus to me. I felt ill about the topic. "I...don't have a past. I don't remember anything, and nobody came to the Guard looking for me." I stated, dully. "All I know is that the Templars saved my life from...what they were hunting, then I wake up here." I explained. The mood had visibly taken a dismal turn in their faces.

"Oh, ah, Erin? What about you?" I asked quickly, trying to divert the attention, only half succeeding as she jerked slightly. "Ah, me? Well…" she half-started, now staring into her food. "I was...born in Darktown. Always lived there." she stated joylessly, before her face brightened with a sardonic grin. "But I made it out, and here I am. Never going back." she said triumphantly. "Templar or Bust!" she added before laughing to herself. I smiled lightly in response, before Ser Roderick caught my eye.

He was done with his food and looking over the recruits.

"Hey, Ser's done with his food. If we don't finish, we might not get to." I said urgently, before digging in quickly. "Ah, damn. You're right." Moira responded, all of us now eating quickly.

We actually managed to finish ours before he stood up suddenly. "Alright Initiates! You're done! Stand up!" he ordered. A few had eaten slowly. "What!?" one exclaimed, and was fixed with our trainer's glare. "I said, Stand Up! Up, you idiots!" Ser Roderick repeated, until all of us were up. "Take your bowls now, and follow." he said, picking up his own and marching back to the serving benches. While his back was turned I noticed some were frantically tipping back and trying to drain their bowls of broth before they lost it. I stifled my amusement. "Alright now, stack them up here. Let's be moving now. Back into lines." he said, placing his bowl on top of one of the stacks already there.

After we put away the bowls and formed back into our lines - Ser Roderick was still making sure we were placed exactly the same as the first time for some reason - we left the Commons moving towards the armoury again. As Ser Roderick pushed through the doors he shouted "We have returned, Ser Quartermaster!", attracting the same droll look the Quartermaster had given me before. "Good, good." he said as we came to a stop in front of his desk. He flipped a few pages in his book and read a bit, before standing up.

"The first piece of armour you were fitted for, is the easiest to wear, and right now the most important part of your armour. It will protect the place that would be the most likely to be badly injured without it during your training. A Helmet." he set out loudly with a grandiose wave, before turning to a new, already open crate pulling out what was obviously a helmet and turning back to me. "See if this fits properly." he said, handing the helmet to me, turning to pick out another helmet. I held the helmet up - it was the same helmet all Templars wore, but this one without the wings I'd seen on others - It had the large evenly cut T-shaped opening in the front, with the heavy spike on top and the small flared out edges at the neck. Turning it over to see into it, there was a padded leather strap hinged into the sides - for the chin I guess - and padding bound to the top and the sides.

Shrugging to myself, I pushed the strap forward out of the way and pulled the helmet over my head, pushing and pulling to fit it properly, before putting a finger through the T-visor and pushing the strap down hard from over my mouth to under my chin. Now that I was actually wearing it I started experimentally moving my head around while trying to see through the visor. It didn't move around too much - the chinstrap was fairly tight - I could see forward and sideways fairly well (but had to tilt to look down) and I had no problems breathing. My breath sounded louder, however.

"Fit well?" the Quartermaster asked quietly - no, normally, the helmet was making him sound quieter.

"Yes, Ser." I said louder than usual. "Good. Go to the back of the line." he responded, looking away to Berkley. For a while after I wandered around to the back while banging the side of my helmet (ow, my hand), the lines steadily crept forward again as before. I heard the Quartermaster having to refit a badly fitting helmet a few times.

Helmets are nice and warm, I noticed, as more people went to the back of the lines and we moved forward until once more, I was at the front of the line.

* * *

Author's Notes

I will gladly admit to having given up and searched through irish baby names for (nineteen) character names in case I'd need them. Kirkwall was more irish inspired, wasn't it? They sounded right anyway. There were a few coin tosses. I did forget to find any last names, however, and just gave up and added the only two Kirkwall names I could find, changing one slightly. Good thing Dragon Age has a thing for single names.

Also: If you take a look at DA2 Templar Armour (see all via Templar Armour - Dragon Age Wiki), you see the bottom robe is actually four(five) parts and the top(black) parts are held on just by a sash and nothing else. The bottom part(tan) is a complete wrap-around dress that restricts mobility with the last part(s)(red) resting on top of it with the sort-of-starburst. This is dumb and I'm going to run by the DA:I armour pictures where the robe is three mostly non-overlapping pieces and the big part begins under the armour plate. The robe is a normal robe under the plate, except it is short-sleeved. It is double-split, front and back.

The starburst part is more DA:I Templar Commander styled, except it is properly red and only has DA2 style gilding. It is made out of thick leather to maintain the shape covered in the gilded cloth, and extends from the red sash over the main-robe. Additionally, a belt with as many pouches as will fit can be worn over the sash, because people need storage space and it helps keep the sash on tight.

All visible leather parts begin at the cuirass collar; the long leather sleeves as in the DA:I Templar Commander picture are completely attached to the cuirass and end in the gauntlet glove. I disagree with DA2 Light's lack of proper shoulders and all Templar armour will have the heavy-style pauldrons because Templars dress to impress.

The Chestplate is DA2 standard, with the addition of an actual backplate (Front and back plates have two visible and large easy-to-reach straps on each side) and ending under the sash. The collar is connected to both parts, the rear part is hinged to the collar to be easy to put on and remove.

The under-robe has always been a trap where people may think there isn't any armour (and end up swinging at it). The legs are in fact low-profile plate over leather leggings.

Higher ranked Templars will have the Winged Helmet and the extra hip-plating as in DA2 Heavy, to make them more recognizable as originally intended.

I almost missed the mail coif in the DA2 pictures...but chainmail is actually surprisingly rare in Dragon Age (except for Ferelden Templars/Ferelden) and would otherwise supplant a lot of leathers, it's just not well known enough. And I've already wrote the helmet in with padding, so bad luck chainmail. (Maybe raise the collar gorget front/rear to block the neck from attack more (sides pauldron restricted). Probably a good idea.)

I maybe shouldn't have spent so long detailing the armour changes, but eh. Turned out to sound surprisingly easy to put on by yourself and can be worn horseback.

Materials are less 'This metal is _always_ sharper than this metal and this leather is _always_ better than this leather.' in my little DA world, by the way. Because gamey gimmicks like that have always been really, really irritating to me.

Legendary materials such as Dragonbone are still worth their tales, though, because Thedas is a world full of magic and magic does incredible things.

On that note it'd probably be a good idea to have mage's staves produced using a variety of metals for a variety of effects, however. Because magic.


	4. Chapter 4 - Initiate III

A bit late, but here it is!

Author's Notes  
I may have forgotten to add that Ser Roderick has been carrying his helmet around the whole time underarm. Because Helmets are important.  
Well, now you know.

I also make no claims that I actually love stew. But Hawke very much does.

* * *

Chapter 4 - Mid Drakonis, 9:27 Dragon - Acclimatization 2

Having been shown our accommodations and issued our new garb and helmets, we were lead deeper into the Gallows to what was obviously a training courtyard. There were what looked to be practice dummies clustered near a corner, long rocky areas surrounding everything inside the yard, and racks of wooden swords and shields near the edges.

It definitely feels a bit warmer than usual under this helmet.

Ser Roderick had lead us to the middle of the yard before turning around to look at us. "Initiates!" He shouted, as was starting to be usual. "Before we begin here, I must admit I have neglected something that I should have dealt with the first we met!" he asserted, his eyes sweeping over us. "When I ask you a question, you will answer and call me Ser! When I give you an order, you will answer and call me Ser! When you have a piddling trifle that demands my attention, you will call me Ser and _present_ it! Am I understood!?" he bellowed. "Yes Ser!" I answered with the others, matching volume with Ser Roderick's loudest. "Good! We'll now begin the first part of your physical training. Follow me." he ordered, remaining in place and watching us.

We stood in silence for a second until I (and some others) caught on and answered "Yes Ser" quickly. It didn't seem to have been fast enough as he glared at us all. "That was pitiful. Again, louder, and all of you this time. Follow me." he repeated, still glaring. "Yes Ser!" we all said together, this time, before standing in silence again as his glare continued for a moment. "Good enough." he stated, finally turning and walking to the edge of the yard, toward part of the surrounding rocky area.

When he stopped and turned again, it was in the rocky stretch that surrounded the yard. I had a bad feeling, seeing it up close.

Was that a bloodstain?

"Now. You wear armour-robes and helmets, but are unaccustomed to them. You have never run in them." he stated, grinning slightly. "You will now learn to run in them, avoiding the rocks that will trip you and the others that you must avoid tripping yourselves. You are not to remove your helmets. This one, for example-" he said, stamping near the large bloodstain which rested on a slightly sharper rock, "-was a singularly brainless initiate who removed his helmet and tripped anyway. He now only has one eye and we're glad to be rid of him." he stated in a satisfied tone. "Now. Most of you will not have built up the kind of endurance required for long-distance running. To those of you who have, well done, you'll be building up more. Those of you who haven't will be suffering for a good cause, every day. Morning and Evening, injuries excepted. For today, however, this will be your evening run." he explained. "Now. You will run until you cannot run, rest shortly, and keep running until the last of you drops from exhaustion, and then you will keep running if I decide you've given up far too quickly. You will help anybody who falls next to you to get up and keep running. Finally, I will be following to keep you going. Am I understood?" he asked, listening as we responded "Yes Ser!" and nodding to himself. "Better. Spread out and start running." he ordered, before pulling on his winged helmet. I gave a quieter "Yes Ser" as I looked over the rocky path apprehensively for a moment before I started to run.

* * *

"Initiates! Form up, single row!" Came the shouted orders from See Roderick who was now standing in the middle of the field, as we panted in exhaustion from the morning run. As we made our way over and got into line - I kept to the leftmost side as before - I wondered what we were due for today. "That sorry excuse for a run was just as pathetic as yesterday's attempt. Too bad I'll have to lag behind another one just like it later." our trainer said derisively. "In any case, today we're starting something new. That weapons rack there-" he said, pointing at said rack to our right, "Equip yourselves with a sword and shield and return quickly. Go." he ordered, settling on his feet to wait as we gave our 'Yes Ser' response and walked off.

We made our way to the rack quickly - but we couldn't yet manage any running - and I picked up a sword first, looking at it briefly as I picked up the shield. The sword was wooden, and from the scratches obviously well used. As I walked back I examined the shield - two straps on one side and a painting of a red...bird thing...on the other. Also well used. The shield itself was also wooden, and made in the same general shape as the metal shields the Templars used. I tried putting my left hand through the first strap and holding onto the second, but the shield flapped downward - too loose - so I put my arm through both straps, feeling them tighten around the arm. Giving a little wave to test it, it felt fairly stable. Next I looked to the sword - it seems much heavier than it should be for wood, but otherwise looks like a normal (albeit wooden) two-edged sword with a crossguard. I shrugged to myself slightly, stopping in the space I'd stood in line before.

Ser Roderick stood watching us until we were all back in line, before straightening up. "Alright, Initiates. Today you will demonstrate to me how much you've been taught to use a sword, how much natural talent you have, and how much you lack either. I've been told there are high expectations for some, and little expectations for others." he said, not looking at me as my nerves spiked slightly. I've not yet tried this, will I remember how?

"In either case, I care little for second-hand gossip. Prove them right or prove them wrong as you wish. You will be split into pairs and will spar until there is a victor or I call an end. No debilitating blows, and do not strike a blow hard enough to break bone where bone can be broken - None of you are yet fitted for armour beyond your helmets." Ser Roderick dictated. "Now, left to right - You, and You." he said, pointing to me and someone a few spaces away from me. "Step forward." Ser Roderick ordered, likely ignoring the 'Yes Ser' we gave as we did so. "Helmets off, give me your names." he ordered again, and I pulled mine off quickly - everything suddenly felt cool and refreshing out of the helmet - holding it down at my hip. "Hawke, Ser!" I finally responded, just before the man to my right called out "Mettin, Ser!". I glanced toward him briefly; he was bare-chinned with short ginger hair. His shield had a blue spiral for whatever reason.

I glanced back to Ser Roderick to see him looking at me. I met his eyes uncomfortably for a few seconds. "Do both of you recall the rules of this spar?" Ser Roderick asked suddenly. "Yes Ser - No debilitating blows and slower, flat-sword hits on unarmoured places." I responded quickly, before seizing up - that wasn't what he'd said. He kept staring at me for a few seconds. "That is correct, Initiate Hawke, and I admit I now recall most initiates would not have thought or known to use the sword-flat to avoid injuries. Remember to do so, and put on your helmets." he ordered, and I quietly mumbled 'yes ser' while doing so, still stiffened. "Show me what else you know. The rest of you, step back. Begin." Ser Roderick ordered, stepping back himself as I spun towards Mettin.

* * *

My arm reverberated as Agatha's shield slammed into mine, pushing me back in the face of her unexpected attack. You could use shields like that? My thoughts were quickly pulled back into the spar by barely managing to block her follow-up strike with my shield before attempting a quick left-step and feinted a stab, quickly almost-jumping right and stabbing again around her shield which she managed to bring back in time to block again, pushing my sword out and away while she brought another heavy strike to bear against my shield.

As I shook slightly under the blow I realised she'd kept her shield low the whole spar. I fingered the sword-grip as she readied another attack - rushed forward and threw my shield-arm in the direction it was coming from, raising my sword and reversing my grip, stabbing down over her now half-raised shield as her strike deflected from my shield into my leg. We grunted heavily at the same time, her from the padded round sword-tip jabbing into her collarbone and me from the sudden dull pain from my leg.

Stepping back panting, I looked over Agatha as she lightly rubbed the space I'd hit, just under a stretch of black hair spilling from her helmet. She'd probably get it cut eventually, I figured. "Win to me?" I half questioned smugly, pulling off my helmet to try to cool down even in the hot open air - If this was the middle of the Kirkwall spring-time, Summer would be hellish. Agatha huffed, also removing her helmet. "Win to you, then. Do you think Moira and Erin have finished - oh." she stalled, looking towards their fight in time to see Moira - probably - lose her sword with a curse and then throw a punch which managed to impact on Erin's helmet with an audible crack and some blood spatter stemming from her unarmoured fist.

I groaned as she let out a yelp before launching into a hail of expletives holding her bloody hand as Erin teetered, slightly dazed. "That had to have been harder than it maybe should have been." I remarked in a dull tone as Ser Roderick marched toward them from his favourite place to watch all twenty of us fight. Agatha gave a short laugh. "I wonder whatever possessed her to do that? Just because we've taken gauntlet fittings today doesn't she's already wearing them." she remarked as Ser Roderick examined her hand before waving her off to the infirmary, and then gave Erin a brief look-over. "Good luck with that hand, Moira. What _did_ possess you to do that, by the way?" I asked with a grin as she came past holding her hand. Her apparent scowl deepened. "Thank you, and shaddup." she bit out, walking past as we started laughing.

We stopped quickly, straightening out. "With the last round, you've caught up and we're even now. One more?" Agatha asked, flourishing her wooden blade. I was about to respond when we were both distracted by the sudden armoured presence behind me. "No, Initiate Agatha. Erin there has lost her sparring partner." he said, pointing towards Erin. "Spar with her while I speak with Initiate Hawke." he ordered. "Ser." we both responded, Agatha looking toward me with a small shrug before marching toward Erin. Ser Roderick's gaze fixed on me. "This is the seventh day and you have yet to improve your usage of a shield beyond simply holding and flailing." he stated, as I shrunk into my boots slightly. "Your usage of a blade, however, is little short of impressive for an initiate. It seems that even if you have lost your memories, you have lost little of your skills." he remarked as I straightened up. "I know almost for certain the only shields found in that alleyway were the ones we brought ourselves, meaning you lacked the skill to adequately use a shield even before now, and in light of your lack of actual incompetence it means you may never truly suit a blade and shield." Ser Roderick exposited with his usual unrelenting stare.

I shifted uncomfortably, uncertain of where this was going. "But...Ser...If I can't use both, what good will I be as a Templar?" I asked apprehensively. He simply continued his stare for a moment, before responding. "The combination of sword and shield is not the only method of which to wage war, simply the most balanced in offence and defence in combat. Many Templars use other weapons, most of them ultimately favouring the bow and even some who favour stealth and daggers. But neither of these will be very useful to you either, I think." Ser Roderick explained as the clashes of wood on wood echoed eachother throughout the yard. "The method I believe may suit you is a single blade of almost your height paired with the most protective of armour to take the hits you know you cannot block. A Greatsword, not as unwieldy as a battle-axe but almost as powerful a blow." he revealed as I tried to picture it, imagine it. "But you will never be able to wield one as you are, no. Too weak. Take another blade and swing both swords at the same time in your exercises for today, I will find a weighty pole for you to try tomorrow. Go, do your exercise swings now until you can't feel your arms." he ordered abruptly, marching back to his overwatch spot. "Yes Ser." I said to his back, slightly stunned.

* * *

I couldn't help marvelling that even after three weeks of little else, the stew in the Commons has always tasted nothing short of heavenly. I hastily silenced a moan that had snuck out, my eyes snapping open to glance around the table.

Moira was grinning at me. Damn.

"A lil'bit enthusiastic there, aren't you Hawke?" she snarked from across the table, attracting the attention of Agatha and Erin. My head fell onto my waiting palm as I groaned in annoyance. "Now now, it's a natural Maker-blessed part of life to feel so...invigorated." she continued with that irritating grin. I sighed. "It's food, and it tastes great. That's all." I replied in exasperation. "This, does not taste great." Agatha said poking at her bowl. What? "Doesn't taste great? It's the best thing I've ever eaten!" I retorted, offended. "Oh, poor Hawke. Don't worry," Moira started in a condescending voice, placing her hand on my shoulder to my annoyance- "We'll get you something that's actually good to eat soon enough." she finished before she started snickering. I dropped my head further down onto the table with another groan, then Erin poked me. "Don't worry, Hawke, this is the best thing I've ever had to eat too." she said wistfully. "We'll definitely be bringing you along then, Erin." Moira said with a laugh.

I suddenly realised that my stew was getting cold.

* * *

" _The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil_

 _And grew jealous of the life_

 _They could not feel, could not touch._

 _In blackest envy were the demons born."_

Mother Talzin cleared her throat briefly, before continuing. "This is, as most of you know, the verse Erudition Two: One. Like the First Erudition, it was authored by Archon Hessarian who, like many of the other maleficar in Tevinter at the time and even now, likely knew the truth in this personally. They we know as Demons watch from across the Veil, coveting our lives and souls we so hold dear. They are the terror that the Circle of Magi exists to bar from our world. They are the bane of the mage, whispering oh so temptingly in their dreams. They are the enemy in the shadows the Templar Order must face every day, as they wait an eternity for the merest foothold. And when a demon, through the negligence of another gains a foothold in our world, they become a blight upon the people, toying with, murdering and enslaving all those nearby, moving on to new victims when none are left unchanged." the old Mother preached, before picking up the slowly cooling tea to soothe her throat.

When she placed the tea down, she drew in another deep breath.

" _Blessed are they who stand before_

 _The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._

 _Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

 _Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._

 _In their blood the Maker's will is written."_

Finished reciting, the Mother kept silent a moment. "These are, once more, the verses Benedictions Four, Ten and Four, Eleven. These words must be taken to heart above all others by all people, for it is well proven by all who act that actions speak louder than words, in life and in death. They who abide these words become the shining example; the lights in the shadow. A Templar's guiding light, of whom should always be remembered." she instructed, before picking up the tea again, bringing it to her lips before halting suddenly - "Do not make the mistake of believing only a Templar could be worthy of this. A slave taken from a fishing village long ago serves as the light that guides us all even now."

I wondered over the meaning as she drank.

* * *

Author's Notes  
After being stuck on more monotonous bits of this chapter (and the previous) that had to exist but didn't really mean anything, I found that skipping time fit very well with the chapter's contents while not holding the story back to large blocks of time that lacked much engagement.

I was a bit sad when I realised I couldn't think of a single way you could test someone's aptitude with a greatsword when they've never swung nearly as much weight in their life. But I'm certain Ser Roderick will know how, which is why I've left it to him.

The thing about Lyrium Addiction symptoms is that it makes the addict - _less._ Ser Roderick likely earned and deserved his 'Ser', before the lyrium caught up to him. I'll not enjoy detailing it in the story's future.


	5. Chapter 5 - Initiate IV: Summerday

_Disclaimer:_

 _I tend to make quite a few little changes to previous chapters as I write new ones, which could change the understanding of what's happening. No big changes yet (except for this chapter, now, twice, though)._

 _Notes:_

 _It occurred to me that there needs to be a distinction between Templars and Templar Initiates outside of the Gallows, but all I can think of is that the in-game recruits wore light armour with no helmets, which is basically any named non-Officer Templar ever. Ultimately I've decided that initiates don't get the pauldrons or the Blade of Mercy on the chestplate until they become a full Templar, and they aren't allowed to wear helmets outside the Gallows. I thought about having Hawke wear all the armour because she's set to use a Greatsword, but decided not to._

 _Considering the common sense of wearing helmets, It might be a good idea to stick the Templar's name on a scroll-design or something just beneath the gorget on the Chestplate or something. I doubt it'll be important, though, so I'll ignore it until it comes up._

 _Next, I figured out a good shape for the raised gorget; Take the Inquisition Foot-soldier's gorget, modify to fit and cover nicely. The back-side of the collar could just be a wider raised-bit that might catch frontal vertical sword-cuts into the shoulder and impede rogues stabbing the back of the neck (necessitating getting closer to stab down into the shoulders provided helmet is worn), but isn't necessary and I don't think I'll write it in._

 _ **It also occurred to me that 1g = 100s = 10000c is a crap-ton for weight. A Sovereign is now worth Ten Silvers or One Hundred Coppers: 1g = 10s = 100c. No clue what an Orlesian Royal is actually worth, so it's an Orlesian version of a Sov. The ponces.**_

 _Accents are annoying. I apologise in advance for short and skipped sections (including Varric telling a story that I agonized over (but gave up after a week having been able to write absolutely nothing about it (maybe in future I'll come back to it(haha doubtful)))), but I have discovered a way to CanonizeHawke's 'Blood-smear' without it being tacky. Perhaps more in future chapters._

 _ **And now I shall state that this took a stupidly long time. Dear Maker.**_

 _On the plus side I finally got around to actually finishing Inquisition, which I've honestly been sitting on for even longer._

* * *

Chapter 5 - First of Bloomingtide, 9:27 Dragon - Summerday

Done pulling on my leggings, I pulled my boots out of my chest next - their armour plates were already half-tied on. Sitting back on the bed I wrestled the heavy metal-plated footwear onto my feet; made more difficult by my habit of leaving the plates half-on.

I wouldn't stop doing it though - I hated dealing with every single string-tie every time I donned or removed my armour, and those were the only ones I could leave tied on for my legs.

Done wrestling them on over my stockings, I started tying them - the usual top-side tie first, then I flipped the plates over top and started tying them to the small hooks on the sides of the boots, before checking over the pre-tied side for loosening. Satisfied that nothing would fall off, I leaned over the end of the bed to look into the chest, and started pulling out all of the pieces of leg-armour, my mood taking a dive as I was reminded of how many there were, and how I couldn't put this off until later; I'd had to be helped with all the ones I ended up unable to reach the first time I tried. I sighed, and started dealing with them in a generally convenient order, standing up when I had to blind-tie the back plates. At least I'd not needed help with that in a while.

When I finished tying the back plates - pulling hard on the plates to test them - I took out and pulled on the armour robes, first checking the split-length to make sure I was putting it on the right way - the front was somewhat longer than the back split.

Then I turned back to the chest and grunted as I lifted out the full Collar-assembly, which included the fixed Chestplate and the Backplate that fell back on it's heavy hinges as I lifted, the Gauntlets which I'd also left mostly tied on, straps for the pauldrons and hip-plates I had yet to earn, and the large collar itself.

I touched the blank, bare space where there could be a burning blade for a moment - and then I dropped it all heavily on my freshly-made bed with a huff. Time for the day's first morning exercise.

Turning it over and facing the chestplate downward, I lifted the backplate with my right hand and gripped the left armhole from the inside with the other, bracing my knees against the bed and then lifting the entire assembly straight up with a grunt - slipping my hand from the backplate to the right arm-hole. Keeping an eye on it to make sure nothing was in the way of it lowering, I started crawling both of my hands alternatingly through the leather arms and into the heavy armoured gauntlets - pushing the backplate further out to accommodate, fitting my head through the opening and feeling the inner shoulder-pads come to rest heavily as I splayed my hands inside the leather gloves to fit. I felt around my neck and pulled the thick cloth collar out from under the small collar neck-plates, keeping them from jabbing into my neck, and then rolled my shoulders with a comfortable hum. I then pulled forward the backplate straps to hook into the chestplate and started cinching the buckles along my arms and the gauntlets - retying the few strings I'd had to untie when I last took them off. Kneeling down next to the chest I pulled out the last two pieces I had to put on, and placed them on the bed.

After I'd straightened out the sash enough, I pulled it up to the bottom edge of my chestplate, and began winding the loose end around me and through the top-loops until there wasn't any left to wind, and pushed the remainder under the sash. I looked over the red-dyed belt next - making sure nothing in the pouches would fall out - I'd acquired a few more pouches and had been given a half-sovereign's worth in silvers and coppers with them by the quartermaster, seeing as I hadn't had any coin to begin with. I smiled lightly as I threaded the belt through the sash-loops idly and cinched the buckle.

It definitely feels nice having something to spend today.

* * *

I eyed the great gates that had been the edge of my world up until now with mixed feelings as we walked closer and closer.

Moira was talking as we walked - "The procession starts at the lowest part of Lowtown you see, just before the Docks start. From there it's not very interesting, but as they walk up Kirkwall until they get to the Chantry more and more people join the procession, and when they get to Hightown there's so many people watching that you've never seen so many people before." she explained for my benefit; I was the only one who'd never even heard of the Summerday procession until a week ago. "I've seen it many times before mine, and I still believe that it is something that should _not_ be missed." Agatha said. "I do wish we chantry orphans hadn't had to start at the very beginning, however - that had been a very long way all the way down and up again." she added dryly, clearly remembering just how far it was. "After we've seen it, by the way, you're all coming with me to the best Tav in Lowtown, probably even Kirkwall." Moira declared with a small wave. "You still need to eat something better than that swill you call stew." she added, moving more quickly to hide her face as I scowled at her before I went back to looking around as we started walking through the long gatehouse tunnel.

"I hope none of them remembers me from the statue incident." Erin said after a moment. Agatha jerked - "That was you!? I had to clean it all up!" she complained and I barked out a laugh, then soon started wondering about the ferry we were going to be using as the others talked on.

I still wasn't sure what a ferry was, exactly, but it didn't sound too bad.

* * *

 _AN: I wish I'd figured out a way to write the Coming of Age procession but after the last bit it just sounded far too repetitive - The flaws of text only._

 _Personally - related to the next section - I can't believe I never noticed the big bloody hanged man in-game, ever. But it's there._

 _It's always been there, watching._

* * *

"Here it is!" Moira proclaimed proudly, "The Hanged Man! Best Tav in all Kirkwall, I swear!" she tacked on. I glanced up from the sweat I'd wicked off my forehead; the building almost looked like any other sun-baked stone and topped-with-spikes building in Lowtown. But there was a particular difference.

"Is a sign like that usual for taverns?" I had to ask, staring at the effigy slowly swinging in the wind. It was hung by it's feet to a metal beam with rope, and was twice the height of the door it hung beside and over. The paint was definitely worse for wear - painted grey legs and a red tunic - and it's rough head was bare of a face, but as it slowly swung it seemed to fix it's gaze on any who came near regardless. "No, but it's part of the charm you see." Moira tried to excuse feebly, eyes flashing toward it for a moment - "But anyway it's too bloody hot to stay out here and talk, let's go in!" Moira said, starting towards the door having fairly successfully diverted the subject. It really was too bloody hot to bother with the thing right now.

We piled into the tavern - trying to ignore the hanging figure as it's face swung towards us as we passed - and immediately felt the cooler -if still warm- air hit us as we came in. I looked over the room briefly; The place was almost crowded, and many of the patrons had looked up if not begun staring at the entrance of four armoured women, most quickly returning to their drinks and their drinking partners. The room was fairly well lit by the windows, fireplace and the many candles set around and on the tables and walls - most of them unlit, and the ceiling was draped in tattered streams of orange cloth. There were many tables; some large, some small, some bunched and a few apart. There were stairs leading up in the back of the room, and there was a bar to the left under a wooden gantry covered in barrels. The bartender seemed unconcerned with the amount of weight above him. "Corff! Long time no see!" Moira called out suddenly, walking closer as he looked up from what he was doing - "Moira! So your father wasn't telling tales, then?" he said, looking over the recognizable armour she was wearing. "Dad's been in here, then?" she asked as she came up to the bar with us in tow. My nose twitched - something smelled appetizing. Corff laughed - "The man just won't stop bragging about how his 'little Moira' is joining the Templars every time he starts drinking. Every. Time. You couldn't help with that, could you?" he asked plaintively, and Moira groaned. "Alright, I'll see 'bout it later. Four Ales and some of what you've got turning back there." she ordered quickly. "Turning back there? Me?" Corff asked with an innocent face - "You do this every Summerday, Corff. Besides, you can't hide the smell." Moira stated with a long-suffering expression as I remembered the smell from the Commons Kitchens - Pork, most likely. "Oh sure, fine. But you're going to have to wait, it's not ready yet. Who are these fine women behind you, by the way?" he asked in an innocent tone as he started pulling out mugs.

Shortly, after introductions were had and we'd received our ale - we'd pay later - we made our way to one of the few clear tables, this one situated beside a wall. I looked over the ale briefly as I sat down - nothing particularly interesting spotted, thankfully - and I'd tipped it back immediately afterward to get the taste, before shrugging to myself as I dropped it on the table. About the same ale as sometimes turned up in the Commons. "So what's your dad like?" Erin asked, looking at Moira who had quickly aborted trying to wipe her mouth with her gauntlet. "Dad? Not much to tell; he's pretty much the usual kind...ah." she cut off uncomfortably, recalling our general parental status. "So?" I nudged her to continue. "Well, um, he's getting a bit grey in the hair, and he gets crotchety when his work doesn't sell well - Oh, he makes small trinkets out of whatever he can; Wood, stone, metal, you name it, and then he sells it where he thinks people would buy them, like Hightown for the fancy stuff and Lowtown for the not-so-fancy stuff. Sometimes he makes things that he knows sailors would like and goes to the docks, too." she detailed, more animated than she was as she began as we drank our ale and listened.

"What kind of trinkets? What do they look like?" Agatha asked. "Hm? Oh, I've got one here, let me…" Moira trailed off, digging into a belt-pouch. "Here it is!" she said, pulling out and showing us what she had. It was surprisingly clean, and it was obviously shaped after the Blade of Mercy: The blade was a shining metal, set into a red-painted wooden base along with six other pieces of the same shining metal which formed the flames of Andraste around the blade. The whole piece was a startlingly well made replica of the icon borne on the armour real Templars wore - I couldn't see any imbalances or flaws whatsoever. "If everything your father makes is like that, he'd definitely have no trouble selling in Hightown." Agatha declared, as Moira's expression turned smug. "He actually made it when I told him I managed to get into the Templar initiates - For luck he said. Used a real silver for the metal, so it wouldn't rust. The other things he made as good as this managed to sell for a Sov in Hightown, too!" Moira boasted. "Maybe you should hide it then - don't want it stolen." Erin spoke up, glancing about. Looking myself, nobody seemed to be paying much attention. "Might be a good idea, Moira. Actually, didn't you say he was one-handed?" I asked as I recalled the detail. Moira was in the middle of retying the pouch. "Oh, yeah! It's always been bloody incredible that he can make them so well, only one hand. I never figured out the trick and my tries never sold, which is probably one of the reasons I'm joining the Templars, really." she said, patting down the pouch. "I'll definitely be visiting him again, today. You lot should come along, too." she invited, before finally taking a drink. "Alright. Later." I accepted, the other two doing the same.

Our conversation took a variety of turns, from Agatha's life as a chantry Lay-sister to our training under Ser Roderick - there were many complaints, as we were still made to run until we dropped twice a day for one - and Moira had called the surprisingly well 'blessed' waitress, Norah, for more Ale before my attention was attracted by someone starting up a story on a nearby table, in the middle of the room. The storyteller turned out to be a dwarf - or so his stunted height would claim, as there weren't any to compare with in the Gallows. He was very finely dressed for being in a Lowtown tavern, and he seemed to like leaving his chest hairs bared to the world. I rested my chin on my hands and began to listen as he spun a tale about his own coming of age.

I knew his grandiose accounting of himself was full of shit well before he finished with the Chantry sisters 'recognizing him as a budding Paragon of Manliness', and apparently deciding to teach him 'The Joys and Responsibilities of adulthood' personally, but the story had somehow been enthralling regardless. Up to that point, anyway.

* * *

I was in a fairly good mood, recalling Moira's face when her plan to feed us something 'better' than stew had suddenly crashed by Corff announcing 'Special Mystery Stew time', and serving whatever he'd had cooking in back as stew. It didn't hurt that the stew itself had been great. "So where does your father live?" Erin asked Moira shortly after we'd left the Hanged Man and started following her. "He lives just past the start of the Hightown Steps, fairly close. A bit under ten minutes walking." Moira replied as I recalled the only map of Kirkwall I'd seen, and quickly gave up trying to connect it to reality after a few moments. Whoever'd drawn it seemed not to have bothered looking at Kirkwall itself, for all the sense I could remember it making.

We walked on in relative silence through the city's bustling streets for a while as the Kirkwall evening heat started to cool off as the sun crept closer to setting behind the high cliffs - thank the Maker - and I noticed suddenly that Agatha was wearing a pensive expression. I watched her uncertainly for a few moments, before I figured that there wouldn't be any harm in asking. "Something wrong, Agatha?" I enquired, seeing her start for a moment and glance at me, before returning to her frown. "I was simply thinking. It's not important." she said, to my skepticism. "If you're sure." I allowed, deciding not to push - if I needed to know, I knew she would tell me soon enough. We walked on as before, coming to the beginnings of the High Steps - the wide stone steps themselves were cut more evenly compared to most I'd seen in Kirkwall, and built along the sides there were homes and buildings, oft edging the climbing cliffs the Steps were carved between. I could see further up a rest landing before the steps turned away and out of sight.

Back at the bottom we were walking through a busy plaza with two streets aside from ours leading away from the steps - The largest leading away, leftward and southward toward the Docks, where we would go when it was time to return. Dockworkers, taking advantage of the cooling air were hauling crates and assorted cargo through, up and down the Steps, most coming from or heading to the Docks. There were two I saw who'd hauled a cart to the Steps, before taking ropes tied to the cart and beginning to pull the cart up, clattering loudly. The other street turned right, seeming to trail under the cliffs of the Steps before splitting away into alleys - Not nearly as busy as the Docks street or even the one we'd come from, but busy nonetheless. As I glanced around the views a sharp - and strangely familiar - sound followed by bellows of laughter in an alley to my right caught my attention, just barely audible over the plaza caught my attention.

"Alright, just a short bit this way." Moira interrupted suddenly, pointing to the northward street away from the disturbance. "Hold up a moment?" I asked, barely diverting my attention. I could see through the alley entrance easily - There were people there pushing inward, wearing Templar armour, but without the pauldrons - Initiates like us. The strange sounds from the alley definitely sounded vaguely familiar, but at the same time completely alien. I thought I'd heard it before, but frustratingly couldn't place it. Unable to dislodge the irritating sense it was somehow important, I turned and marched into the alley - the rest shortly following, curiosity piqued.

Walking up behind the distracted initiates, whom I'd quickly identified as Mettin and his lot, I froze - hand slightly raised - as I caught sight of the source of the compulsively familiar sounds -

A Mabari - an arrow staining his softly golden furred hind leg red, barks pained, bites cautious as they laughed and drove him into a corner -

Before I truly noticed, my half raised hand balled into a fist as I drove it into the back of the closest's - Darrick's - head with a snarl, small metal plates breaking skin with a small spray of blood before he went down with a cry, reaching for the injury. I ignored Moira's quiet "The hell, Hawke?" behind me, anger flooding me for reasons I didn't understand. "The fuck do you think you're doing?" I challenged, taking a step back to keep all of them in view - Mettin and his 'devout' admirer Jana on the left, the De Lauret slime on the right as Darrick lay moaning at my feet - as they stopped and turned in shocked surprise.

"Us!? What about you, you bloody lunatic!" Mettin shouted back, newfound fury in his bearing. Reason returned to me as I realised I shouldn't have attacked. "How about you leave the dog alone and piss off, huh!?" I returned loudly, extremely doubtful that would work as I shifted into stance. De Lauret stepped forward angrily. Clearly not. "You _bitch_! You think you can hurt Darrick and we'd just let you go!?" he yelled - "You'll pay for this, dogfucker!" Jana screamed at me, pulling back and launching her fist as she lunged forward - ducking to the side sharply, I reached vaguely for a grab with my left hand and missed, armour scraping on armour, as I threw my fisted right hand in return - Jana's eyes widened as she jumped back from my face-bound attack quickly enough she almost tripped, escaping my failed grasp easily.

Scowling as I focused on her, figuring out what to do next - realising I had tunnel visioned as I glanced left to see - Pain shocking across my face as I staggered backward with a pained gasp, Mettin's hand falling back from the heavy blow as he closed toward me with a baleful grin, which quickly fell as heavy metallic footsteps heralded Agatha barging into him shoulder first, a crash of armour sounding through the alley as he fell back, caught by Jana. To the right I saw De Launcet's steady advance intercepted - although not as heavily - by Moira as they began trading blows. Pushing myself up, I was interrupted by Erin's hands taking hold of my arm and heaving upward. She didn't look happy. "We'll be talking about this after, Hawke." she said, as I suddenly became very uncomfortable. I was spared answering by Jana's screaming charge, quickly moving into a counter.

* * *

At the moment a squad of Guardsmen flooded the alley entrance, beginning to break up the fighting, an unusually large dog was partially hanging by it's teeth on someone's much deserving backside. Having noticed the shouting, Mettin's screaming, and being mindful of the (however thread-thin) reason we were fighting, I finally managed to end my fight - by finally managing to land a solidly heavy blow to that obnoxiously pretty face. As Jana dropped, I ran toward the spectacle, thought popping into my head - that's a lot of screaming for someone who should be wearing the same armour I was under that robe - bending down and catching the dog, circling my arms around the barrel chest ("Hawke!"), lifting upward as I muttered in it's ear to "Let go, come on now, let him go", my eyes on Mettin just in case he'd - but no, jaws released he practically dove away before falling over. No longer muffled by a (possible) bastard, the dog began whining painfully - I remembered the arrow, stilling as I looked back and saw it jostling, so I slowly lowered my arms until the animal lay fully on the ground. Releasing my grip and waving a hand through roughened silvery-grey (not golden?) fur, I looked around to see one of the Guard, clad in full helmetless plate, closing in. "Out of the way." he spat, sword rising. What? No. "What?" I replied, staying still. "Out of the way, that beast will pay dearly for attacking a man!" he shouted at me. The beast in question barked from behind me, fighting through it's pain to stand up, and I got angry, standing up myself.

"No. No bastard like you will hurt that dog in front of me." I warned him, preparing to make sure that stayed true - He had a blade, shield, and armour, but I also had armour and I bet I could take one of the other two for myself. ("Hawke! Don't be a bloody idiot!") The guard grew even more incensed, preparing a swing as I tensed to avoid it - "Guardsman Meddic! Stand down!" someone shouted behind him, freezing us both. "Sergeant!?" He shouted back, turning around to do so (I twitched, almost taking the opportunity). "Stand down, Meddic!" The un-helmed (and bearded) sergeant repeated, coming closer. Meddic's face turned surly. "Yes sir." he muttered, finally lowering his sword. "Doglord bitch." He spat scathingly, walking away as the sergeant arrived. "You. Stand down." he ordered calmly. I faltered. "You're not harming this dog." I said again. "I won't. Stand down." he repeated in turn, and, after a moment, I took a step back. The dog gave another whine, reminding me of the arrow in it's leg. Another moment of indecision, and suddenly the guard sergeant moved - swapping his sword to his shield hand and digging around in one of his pouches? Pulling out a roll of cloth, he tossed it to me. "Here, a bandage." he explained. "You have a minute to deal with that. No more." he stated, pointing at the arrow-wound. I was almost in shock. "Why help?" I asked him. He motioned towards my friends, who were staring at us. "They were getting unruly, and you were causing it. It's solved. Your minute has started." he stated, pushing me back and walking back to the other guardsmen.

Still hesitant from the sudden turn-about, I went back and around the Mabari - who collapsed again with a huff - to keep the guardsmen, my friends, and Mettin's lot in view while I treated the injury. Rolling her over carefully (and discovering this particular silver-furred mabari was female), I took hold of the arrowhead side of the arrow - it had gone straight through the leg - snapping it before taking the other side and pulling it out as she gave a dull whine and bright red began flowing again. Tossing it aside, I unrolled the cloth bandage and took an end, leaving some of it to tie to the other end, and began rolling it tightly around the wound until it ran out, finally tying it off to the end I'd left hanging. The wound taken care of, wiping the blood off my hands on the bandage and sitting back heavily, I considered what had happened, and what would probably happen. While I was thinking, the dog got onto it's feet tenderly and limped toward me, poking her head under my arm to lay her chin in my lap, sitting back down. I started stroking silver fur almost without thinking.

Moments later the guard sergeant returned. I barely heard a "Definitely Fereldan." spoken under his breath before he kicked me in the leg (causing a thud of leather boot on metal plate and a canine growl). "Time's up, to the Guardhouse. Get up." he ordered. Shifting the mabari off my leg, I complied.

* * *

"Hurry it up." Some Guardsman ordered in his increasingly annoyed tone, pushing me forward again as I'd slowed down to look back. The silver-furred Mabari had barely been in view, still limping over her injured leg and slowed significantly. I fought to resist the urge to - to turn around and snap his neck and - to get us all into even worse trouble than we were now. I looked back past the bastard again, but the crowd had drawn back together after the Guard had pushed through.

This time I resisted the urge to hum out a whine, as we marched on to the Guardhouse.

We arrived soon enough - there being various Guardhouses scattered through the lower city - to a building made out of the same sun-weathered stone and bricks as made up almost every other building in Lowtown, this one having the distinction of a pair of banners bearing the golden dragon heraldry of the City Guard hung on it's walls, and an actual Guardsman standing outside likely ensuring they weren't stolen for the cloth.

Being pushed forward again towards the door - wearing armour made that less annoying but it was definitely fraying at my nerves - we passed the door-guard who was staring at our armour in surprise, entering the building. The room we entered held three empty cells dividing off half the room, and a bunch of empty tables and chairs opposite them. "Separate them, two cells." The Sergeant ordered, shaking a key ring out of a belt pocket and moving to unlock the one at the end of the room, other Guards dragging Mettin and his lot toward it, surprisingly silent, just as we were. The closest one turned out to be already unlocked as one of the Guards just pulled it open, and the one in back started shoving again, pushing toward the open cell. After we were inside, one of them closed it, and lacking keys, just stood there. "You're behaving well, aren't you?" he realised, staring at us suspiciously. I failed to repress a shudder. Ser Roderick was going to find out about this. He was probably already on his way here. The Sergeant finally came over, and with a ratcheting of keys, locked the cell bars. "Who should we expect to come and collect you, initiates?" He asked. "Ser Roderick." Agatha replied, voice quieter than usual. "I've heard of him. You're not leaving until he turns up, then. Bern, run a message to the Gallows, Ser Roderick." he ordered, turning to one of the lighter armoured Guards who'd brought us in, who replied 'Sir', and left through the door.

I turned, looked around a moment for a spot next to the wall covered in less mud and filth than others, and sat down leaning my head against the wall and closing my eyes.

"Hawke." Moira said rapping on my chestplate as she sat next to me. "You owe us answers." she stated, tone hard. I exhaled slowly, opening my eyes. "I've told you before, I don't remember anything about my life. That this was the first time I've ever been outside the Gallows." I started, quietly, trying to recall the memories as Agatha and Erin closed ranks to hear. "Then I saw the bastards pushing a Mabari into a corner, torturing it, and I realised it wasn't the first time. I remembered another time, the same thing was happening. Slavers, I think. The Mabari was important to me. It hurt. Still hurts." I admitted. "Mabari?" Erin asked. "The dogs. They were both Mabari. I've never heard the word before, so I have to have remembered it." I answered, before continuing. "I was smaller then, younger, but that made the pain worse, so I attacked them, and probably just ended up in a cage, just like now." I continued just as quietly, waving toward the bars surrounding us. I couldn't put image to what I was saying, but I knew it was true. "When I remembered it happening, I forgot it was a memory, forgot they weren't slavers. So I attacked. Again." I said, pulling my knees up as much as my armour would allow, hugging them. I was silent, thinking. "Is there anything else you remember?" Agatha asked softly. I tried, tried thinking of what happened before or after, tried thinking of the parents I should have known. "No, nothing." I answered, shaking my head.

We were silent again. "I can handle that answer, I think." Erin said, sitting back, Moira following her example, but Agatha leaned forward, clinking armour. "I've heard of Mabari before, in stories. All Fereldan stories." she revealed. "From what I know, Mabari bond with a single individual. Or family, I'm not certain. They don't stay if they don't like you, so you can't just make one a pet, and there are very few stories about Mabari outside of Ferelden, the so-called land of the 'Dog-lords'." Agatha listed as I listened closely. "If the Mabari you remember was really important to you," she said as I nodded, "then it must have been in your family, and the only place you can really find Mabari is Ferelden, so you must have lived there." Agatha figured. "We found one of those dogs in Kirkwall, Agatha." Moira pointed out. "Well the Chantry books said they were only in Ferelden. One in Kirkwall doesn't mean much, I still believe Hawke is a Fereldan." Agatha defended, Moira surrendering with a 'Fair enough, then.'

Settling down and trying to remember things I knew about Ferelden, I thought back to the dogs, both of them - Golden and Silver, and wondered when it would stop hurting

A little over half an hour later, an abortive argument had started between cells to try to shift blame, quickly dissipating when we realised Ser Roderick's impending rage wouldn't care, as we had all fucked up equally in his eyes.

The Mabari hadn't turned up, or none of us heard it.

Eventually, I noticed Erin twitch for a moment, before heavy foot-falls became audible and when the door burst open I was already rocketing to my feet as quickly as my armour would allow.

Ser Roderick would not be kind.

* * *

In fact, he had been stoic. Apologising to the Guard for our 'misbehaviour', getting us out of our cells, leading us home.

When we had reached the Gallows, he had redirected us to the sparring grounds. Ordered us to shed our armour, and then picked up a wooden sword.

He told us that the gates behind us remained open, that any of us who passed them would be thrown onto the ferry and never allowed back here, and then he told us to defend ourselves, before he charged.

I suffered a broken arm, several cracked or broken ribs, various 'contusions' including a blacked eye, a few crushed fingers, and a head-wound, most of which were easily reparable over time, according to the healer I woke up to. I didn't know about anyone else.

I think the only thing he broke was his wooden sword. I'm not sure how, I couldn't particularly remember.

* * *

 _Edit Notes II: I was going to work longer on a sixth chapter before posting, but because of timeskips it makes more sense to cut that a bit and add more to this one while it's in the works._

 _Author's Notes:_

 _Small Problem: I write conversations for three people much better than for four. Erin is the only OC of the bunch who I added for...forgotten reason. Probably just to have another person, really. I keep having issues with preventing her character from overlapping the others and don't very well know what I'm going to do with her or even what kind of personality and history she has. Right now she's just far too quiet during conversations - possibly a keep-your-head-down learned response from Darktown, now that I look at it._

 _The Templar Collar-Assembly, after writing over it more, is awesome. Protectively inferior to actual late-medieval full plate and Ferelden Super-Heavy, of course, but those need assistance to help put on and I imagine it would be very hard to chase down mages on foot in them. Admittedly putting it on might go differently or it might be made differently in reality, but I still love my version._

 _I'm sort of retconning the belt to be dyed red to match the sash it sits on, by the way. Maybe add some of the gilt used with the sash to help hide it._

 _The Hanged Man note: The Hanged Man is located fairly close to the Hightown Steps for plot reasons - actually, looking at the Kirkwall map (for all the good it does), it's pretty close to the Docks/Gallows and Darktown (which is assumed to be as depicted on the map - Halfway up and inside multiple cliffs, forming a fairly extensive mining tunnel network (dear god it makes so much sense)) as well. It's pretty much a good excuse for Varric and everyone else being there fairly consistently. Another note: Pigs are Dragon Age Canon, even if they were only side-mentioned in another Codex page about Nugs. (and only directly mentioned by Loghain MacTir as I accidentally found) Finally: I've never actually gotten drunk (attempts have been made), so I can't pretend I know much about how that goes. Let's just say Hawke can hold her alcohol._

 _I've also just realised that docking at the Gallows was forced during the blight - The Docks proper was inaccessible at the time. Which combined with the need to traverse water to get to it means that the Gallows is on an island either nestled against the western cliff or in the middle of the cove, and has a chain or two spanning the inner cove, similar to the outer-Kirkwall chains to block shipping. The first thing you see in Kirkwall (aside from the weeping sentinels) is The Gallows, so it makes sense that it's in the middle and you sail around it normally to get to the Docks. When the chains are up, you can dock in at the Gallows and go through (or around?) to the other side where ferries for people and cargo are readily accessible - see Blight-period. Looking through the Kirkwall Map, assuming the Gallows is positioned so (and the ocean is behind it) the Steps lead up to Hightown and the Viscount's Keep overlooking all Kirkwall on the western cliffs, themselves obviously walled off against a (honestly miraculous, considering the Wounded Coast and the Vimmarks) land-bound invasion (also providing gate access to the Wounded Coast 'n' Sundermount) and housing Darktown below, overlooking the waters leading into Kirkwall._

 _They honestly messed up when they didn't render Kirkwall in all it's Glory. I also admit to getting really attached to just exploring Kirkwall._

 _Dog-lord note:_ _In DA2, free-marchers consider 'Dog-lord' to be an insult. In Ferelden, Mabari bonds are considered to be one of the most important you can have, and so the insult isn't particularly effective, and is often a source of pride. Barring alcohol._


	6. Chapter 6 - Initiate V

_Notes_

 _Would vs Will: 'Would' just seems better, but 'Will' is actually correct. But 'Would' just seems better. Writing future-tense in past-tense just feels right for some absurd reason, and I guess it'll happen a lot in my writing._

 _Looking at this chapter, my writing quality's definitely gone down, but my writing speed's going marginally faster because I'm just ignoring the urge to get bogged down making it better and now just have to deal with being very slow. I'm going to accept that and leave quality for later updates, based on reviews. +1 reviewbait_

 _See Kirkwall note in post notes._

* * *

Chapter Six, Thirteenth day of August, 9:27 Dragon

In the three months and ten or so days since the alley brawl, Ser Roderick ensured our lives were harsher than ever. After the healers had declared us recuperated, we had immediately been thrown back into training. Our punishment continued well after the beating the Templar had given us; In the morning and evening runs, we had to run further. Our exercises were rougher and longer. After Ser Roderick introduced group combat training, we had to fight harder. In spars, we had to fight _better._ If we fell behind in our studies, it got worse. If our efforts faltered, Ser Roderick mentioned the gates again. Then, after everything else, we had to do an intensive cleanup of the kitchens every other day before we could do our laundry - The days we didn't have to, Mettin's lot did, so at least we were separate. The only real improvement in our regimen was that as every day that we didn't have Kitchen-duty came to a close, we came into the care of the healers again to ensure we could handle each tomorrow, the healers likely reporting to Ser Roderick. If nothing else, it showed that we were still on track, and that they intended to keep us past our punishment. If not for that, I would have given up months ago.

Erin was definitely starting to flag, however, no matter how much she pushed - the healers were starting to keep her overnight occasionally, and hadn't released her at all for all of yesterday.

While Agatha managed to scrape us through our Chant studies, we managed to help Erin learn how to read, and Moira how to write legibly - No memories to explain my unusual abilities with either surfaced, only confusing my origins further. Further, through our training Moira and Agatha had achieved solid competence with the conventional blade and shield method that I'd failed with, and though she struggled with the same method Erin turned out to be surprisingly competent with a bow. After Ser Roderick had found a sufficiently large, weighty, and padded pole somehow, he had given it to me and immediately told me to just start swinging it in broad arcs, periodically ordering me to stop a swing in progress as quickly as possible.

That particular trial had lasted almost half an hour of constant swinging, as he only occasionally barked orders at other initiates around the grounds until the point I'd fallen over and couldn't push myself up again, at which point he'd conscripted my friends to drag me to the Healers. I was wiped for the rest of the day. The next day he'd dragged me in front of a sword practice log, and told me to do the same thing until it, or my 'greatpole' were splinters. After both had remained intact after I wiped out once again, he told me I hadn't been hitting it hard enough, and that I would be making the attempt again, in the evening, and again tomorrow, failing that.

After some of the covering padding tore and I saw iron beneath it, I had looked at the thick cut-marked log and once again came very close to giving up.

The next day I looked at the thick padding again, realised my idiocy, and tore it all off to reveal iron banded wood before making the attempt again. I made more progress than all of my previous efforts combined. And then Ser Roderick walked up to me, looked at both poles, told me to swing, told me to stop mid-swing, told me to swing, and then told me to swing harder. So on, so forth, until I'd swung hard enough, at which point he told me to always swing a Greatsword with that much force, and that I was finished trying to break the practice pole, before showing me a much lighter padded pole that I was to spar with.

After I got used to not using a shield and the much longer reach I stopped losing my spars horribly, but I only started winning evenly after I remembered his advice and started trying to break bones with the underweight piece of wood.

* * *

Erin shifted her shield, bracing and taking the impact with a thud rather than the usual thwack. She must be about to jump at me, so I leapt backward, pulling the lightened pole with me into a short spear grip. She followed just as expected, though she held her shield high in front, a shield charge? Taking a risk and using her blindness, I leveled for her knees and put all the force I could into a thrust.

It caught, and Erin swore as her leg was swept out and she toppled sideways. I grinned beneath my helmet while I relaxed my sore muscles as much as I could for the moment, breathing heavily.

* * *

 _Garbage. Can't eat._

Dismissing the scraps-less refuse pile, she moved on, keeping to the shadows, eventually coming upon another pile, which told the same story. In the middle of continuing onward, she stilled, listening.

Squeaking. A scent of vermin.

Tracing the sound up the steps into the cliff-side, she upped the pace, coming closer, closer, until she caught sight of the rats. Breaking out into a sprint as they began scattering in panic to their holes she lunged - almost, but not quite catching the slowest of the lot before it ran beneath a broken crate, scrabbling past it toward a decrepit storm drain. Missed.

Relaxing and sitting back - only rain could bring rats out of the drains and there would be none today - She gazed up toward the cliffs, eyeing the exposed mineshafts that now served as warrens for vermin and human alike. She hadn't searched there yet, but she had thoroughly searched Lowtown already, and the Docks would be just as dangerous. She stepped off into the tunnels.

The air grew more and more stale the further in, the rising scent of filth decay, and the smoke of torches and lanterns almost overwhelming to a sensitive nose. Staying for a time stopped being an option; she would search quickly and leave before the stomach-turning smells burned away her nose. She picked up the pace.

The warrens lead onward, upward, downward and elsewhere, diverging tunnels splitting away into darkness seemingly on every poorly-lit corner. A short diversion had yielded lunch, and an emaciated man hiding away barely alive from the crowded areas she could smell above had yielded a short fight to try and take it.

Staying far from the crowds housed in the cliff-face shafts, hiding from various passers-by, junction after junction of dark mineshafts went by for an hour - some blocked by wooden planks, most not - revealing nothing of her quarry. Sick of the omnipresent stench trailing through the stale air and ready to turn back, she ducked into another lightless shaft as another shady group - this one of dwarven men - appeared. Waiting for them to pass, she froze as a waft of their passing carried the confusingly unidentifiable scent of the box they carried; It was part of the strange human scent that had joined the Quarry on the trail long ago, but not on the quarry herself. It was...pure, with no trace of human or steel now, but it was still a scent she'd never discovered elsewhere.

A trail to track. Leaving the shaft after their passing, she followed silently.

They were loud, the men with the box. Trailing them from far enough to avoid being seen was easy, even ignoring their scent trails, but their words became indistinct through the echoes. After a time, they stopped at another junction, so she slowed, moving to the closest corner to hear them clearly. Reaching it, she waited; They were understandable now, but their words were meaningless. One of them digging into a pocket, a knock of wood as they took a long-burnt torch from the wall. 'Light it already'.

Their route was obvious, as they wrapped cloth around their new light and the scent of oil came around the corner before suddenly the crackle of flame sounded. A clack of metal, and some swearing from a burn - probably a lantern besides. They moved on and she turned the corner to follow the fading light.

Once more, tunnel after tunnel, junction after junction. The supports became older, more decrepit. The seals of blocked tunnels eaten through. Bones long dead rested in corners, their deaths unknown, and the filth and decay of before had faded to nothing. No scents of life existed this far in, so why were they here? Eventually, collapses in offshooting tunnels became evident, old enough to become unshakeable. The path became jagged, but the dwarves never hesitated on each turn. A slight wind began to blow, growing stronger as the path continued.

She caught the scent of the box combined with human along with that of salt water on the wind, the box stronger than human this time. Not the same man, but following the box had been worth it.

When the dwarves with the box finally met with the new box-scented humans, she remained at a distance, out of sight. They would make a trade, or break out into fighting - she didn't need to know the details. When the clinks of a lot of currency echoed through the tunnel, she backed up to a once-blocked side tunnel, entering the empty darkness and waiting.

The dwarves went past, satisfied and self-congratulatory. She left the passage and moved quickly to catch up to the new owners of the box. It felt like tingles were swarming through her fur - She was close, so close.

* * *

" _Foul and Corrupt are you,_

 _Who have Taken my Gift_

 _And Turned it Against my Children."_

Mother Talzin's voice rang out clearly through the room, before she took another sip of her omnipresent teacup. "Transfigurations Eighteen: Ten. This verse may, at first, be viewed simply as so: That any Mage who acts against the peoples of this world with magical means of any kind, minor or not, is foul and corrupt." The Mother declared. "Those who think so simply and thence act against all mages by it are fools. This verse is not a Maker-given carte blanche to name any mage as Maleficar for anything they had ever done. No. This verse is two-sided: Magic is a gift given to us by the Maker, not for us to simply squander in fear of it,and that those who truly turn it to foul ends are undoubtedly corrupt, Maleficarum, and must be punished dearly for it." She finished, taking another sip from the cup.

"If it is not to be Squandered, why do we lock mages in the Circles?" Someone asked from behind me. Mother Talzin remained silent a moment before replying. "Because no man alive is without fear, for those who are die quickly. Many, many people fear magic, those peoples of the streets, the courts, the villages, the forests, the deserts. Magic is feared far and wide, and people would unjustly strike out against the practitioners for it. So they live behind the walls of the Circles, where they cannot be lynched in alleyways for what they have not done." she said. "But this is not the reason the Circles truly exist, as you should know. They _are_ dangerous, no matter how good their intentions. Only the First Enchanters may truly be trusted to be dangerous only when they mean to be, having withstood the abhorrent attentions of Demons for their entire lifetimes. Any other mage, no matter how kind hearted, caring, human, may lose control when they least expect it. It happens outside these walls, after parents think to hide away and protect their children. It happens inside these walls, after children think of how their parents threw them away to life under the gaze of cold, steel Guardians. It has happened before, and will happen again. A Templar must forge a will of steel and a touch of velvet, always be ready to do what must be done, yet never to provoke the necessity of doing so." The Revered Mother intoned.

And then took another sip from her teacup.

* * *

While we walked toward the training yard from our dorms where we'd retrieved our armour (We were not allowed to wear armour to 'Theory'), I wound my shoulders attempting to tighten the fit and to warm up for the strain and pain that was to come for the second half of the day, now that the aches had mostly faded.

"Ser Roderick can't mean for us to do this forever. It was just a fight, and this shit got old a long fucking time ago." Moira grumbled. "Yeah. He has to. That's good." Erin said, mostly to herself.

I gave her a look along with the others, concerned, before humming my agreement. It was getting to be too much for everyone, but Erin was physically the weakest of us - I didn't know why, but she just couldn't gain as much strength as we could, and now that I wasn't failing to use a shield and had gotten used to a 'greatsword' I was no longer the one who lost the most spars - It was becoming common for her opponents to simply power through her weaker strikes, and she couldn't use her skills with a bow in spars.

I'd decided that if it didn't get easier for her soon, I would go to Ser Roderick and ask. After this long, he wasn't likely to beat me into the ground again...I think. The De Lauret scion had complained two weeks into the punishment and been put back in the healer's beds. Nobody had risked trying again until now.

But it had been three months already, so it really did have to end soon.

Maybe I would make the attempt today.

While I had been thinking, the Mess Hall and the kitchens came closer, and sounds of a commotion began reaching my ears - crashes of some kind, shouts, and curses. I had eyed the slightly ajar door the sounds were coming through, wondering if we could really spare the time to look, when I noticed the crashes and cursing were coming closer. Sounds of scampering started coming through - definitely an animal, so I diverted to the door and prepared to try to catch whatever pest had gotten into the stores.

I didn't realise that the animal's footfalls were heavier than a common kitchen raider's had any right to be until it burst through the door with a resounding charge, shrugging off the blow to it's shoulder as if it hadn't felt it. I stalled, seeing it - the silver-grey fur matted with dirt and filth, the golden eyes that fixed on me. While I'd hesitated, the Mabari hadn't stopped it's (her) charge, hurtling and leaping into a full-bodied impact that took me in the chest, armour taking the hit but still throwing me backward from the almost-crouch I'd been in, carrying me airward until the impact relieved my lungs of whatever wind had still been in them and introduced my head to the ground as the helmet I'd left unworn clattered away.

Fighting through the pain of that and the feeling of weight on top of me, I opened my eyes to see the oversized dog staring down at me as it's pursuers came closer. After a moment of this while I stared back in shock, she let loose a deep growl before leaping sideways to avoid Moira's attempted grab, sprinting through the hallways we'd come from. Shaking off the shock I grunted "Up" at Moira, giving her my arm to help pull me back into standing. "That was the dog, wasn't it? What the hell's it doing in the _Gallows?_ How the hell did it even get here!?" Moira asked while doing so, near dumbfounded, but any reply I could have made was interrupted by kitchen workers coming through the door brandishing knives.

"Which way did that fucker go!?" one of them almost shouted at me. I pointed him the right way, but there was no longer a mabari to be seen, having likely vanished into another hallway, but they ran off into a chase regardless. Another moment afterward, a Templar wearing an expression of obvious displeasure walked through the door. "Ser." I said, straightening. His face didn't shift. "To your duties, initiate. The servants will handle the mongrel." he ordered. "Yes Ser." We said, before continuing toward the training court - picking up my helmet along the way.

That dog was too fast to simply be caught, I knew. As I rubbed at the pain on the back of my head, I realised that she could probably fight her way through cooks with knives regardless. It would be fine, hopefully.

But Moira was right, I realised; The Gallows was a fortress, practically an island unto itself and in fact it would be, if not for being nestled between two cliffs - cliffs so sheer nothing could come from over them. Not without a lot of rope.

So how _did_ the dog get here? "Stowing away on a ferry, maybe?" I answered belatedly. Moira huffed in response. "Probably. Not like there's any other way, is there?" she replied, echoing my thoughts. Humming in response, my thoughts turned back to Ser Roderick as we came closer to our destination, contemplating, and eventually coming up with a simple answer.

I would speak with him, and ask for the punishment to finally end. If he decided to react the same way he did with De Launcet…

As he himself pointed out often, we could always just walk out through the gates.

* * *

 _ **Second Half of Chapter Pending.**_

 _I've stalled out, and come to the understanding that I just can't more than one side of a conversation very well. If anybody'd like to help with that feel free to message me at any point in the future, but in the meanwhile I don't feel like sitting through (cumulative) days of writer's block._

* * *

 _Author's Notes_

 **Kirkwall Note** : After figuring out that underwater smuggler's tunnels aren't the easiest things to dig, I figured that the Gallows _had_ to be nestled up against the cliffs, as is vaguely according to the map - but while the map would allude to it being the Western cliffs, the game shows the Gallows more on the Eastern side. (Goddamnit Bioware.) While magically protecting an underwater tunnel _is_ possible, the level of spellwork to do so would either be detected by most of the Gallows' occupants - or could have worn off literal ages ago, so I was just going to declare that the Gallows is built next to, and somewhat into the Western Cliffs and faces outward, into the cliffs-channel and the Twin's Gate, almost blocking the way past into the Docks Proper. But then I looked at gameplay and realised something.

What's shown in Gameplay of the Gallows is that it's essentially the complete entry point of Kirkwall, basically blocking the city off from the seas entirely, but then they seriously ruined that by adding docks behind it. But there was a _lot_ of civilians, guardsmen, mercenaries, smugglers, etc. in a place where Templars hold domain.

So I've decided that Bioware's vague design of Kirkwall's map (and lack of appreciable background footage) is basically useless, but I still need a proper map design. Henceforth, the Gallows _is_ the only water-based entrance to Kirkwall, built between the cliffs with its grand little barred staircase that refugees tried to get through. The True Sea-Docks are relocated entirely, building off the Gallows toward the Twin's Gate. The Lagoon between Kirkwall Proper and The Gallows is heavily populated by cargo ferries, not one of them ever seeing the sea itself - basing off their own docks built on the landward side of the Gallows, where the Docks were originally shown.

In-game backgrounds are next to useless - There are no memorable cliffs shown at all (Aside from the Twin's Gate and Darktown) to match the map.

So, common references: The Gallows refers to the bit of land bearing its namesake, with Docks appended when referring to the Seaward-Docks, or the inward ferry-docks. The Docks refers to the ferry-docks and accompanying warehouses built into the actual city.

 _More worldbuilding this chapter. In game, Darktown is shown to be a large open space cut into the side of one of the two cliffs that make up the harbour channel, presumably accessable from the Hightown Steps if not Hightown itself considering the exit is a daylit lift upward plus what the map shows. I consider it to have been deliberately dug to expose the deeper mineshafts to fresh air as the Tevinter Imperium drove their slaves further underground in the search of greater treasures, and to have turned out to be fairly liveable. Many such 'air vents' might exist, but Darktown would be the closest to Kirkwall proper to be so 'popular' to live in. The Mineshafts themselves, dug by hundreds of thousands of slaves over generation after generation would be deep, expansive (although they never reached the Deep Roads), and in places - long forgotten. Because of the Kirkwall note above, Darktown now hereby exists overlooking the Kirkwall Lagoon._

 _Strength note: As most of you should know, Gender doesn't affect stats in Dragon Age. Women aren't more dextrous and Men aren't stronger or somesuch. Include the magical base of the entire world of Thedas - The World and the Fade were once one, or close to - and it becomes fairly plausible. Ish. This is just for whoever didn't know - Thedas' humans just evolved that way. Some people, however, are built a little differently. Erin is one of these people, built more like a 'Rogue'._

 _Hawke Note: I'm not very good at Charismatic, which you can't deny a proper !ChampionHawke is supposed to be. Mostly though, I've noticed that while I've been trying to avoid conversations like the plague (Upload time killers that they are) she doesn't seem to be developing any charisma or personality quirks at all. I'm mostly certain that if this story gets to a reasonable length they'll turn up, but in the meanwhile, oh well._


End file.
